Keeping it Simple
by ArtFontaine
Summary: A few months after the events of Ketsu, Ikebukuro is returning to normal or as close as it can get. Masaomi Kida and Rokujou Chikage have settled into an easy friendship founded on similar ideas, and a good enough way to spend the time. Until it's not enough. Rokujou finds himself in a situation, not for the first or last time, where his heart is in a little deeper than he thought.
1. Keeping it Simple

His tongue clicks dryly against the roof of his mouth in consideration, feeling heated but not uncomfortable under the pointed amber gaze across the room.

 _There it is._

The cocksure smile that slips across his lips is a reflex, but the outburst was a start as far as he was concerned. The awkward space between them had to be addressed sometime, might as well be tonight. He knew the confrontation would come eventually, even if part of him was unsure if the blonde had truly noticed until now, or was in a characteristic kind of stubborn denial. But the youth was sharp—a thing he admired—and for his part, Rokujou Chikage wasn't particularly subtle...not about these things.

He blamed himself mostly, not that he wasn't proud of it, but the chestnut-haired man was more than aware that he quite personally brought this situation about. But, it also wasn't the first, or by any means the last time that Rokujou got himself in a little deeper than he originally planned. But eh, such was life, part of what kept it interesting. He had to hand it to Ikebukuro, the city had interesting in great supply.

Not that the boy was making it easy on him. He'd been more than happy to oblige his company of course. And now that sparring was a regular habit he had a new host of problems. That's not to say it wasn't worthwhile, both an act of chivalry and good, old-fashioned entertainment. But it also brought him into physical contact with the youth, maybe just a bit more than he was prepared for.

He learned some things. While he had superior strength and endurance, the youth was fast and getting both faster and more efficient as this last round had rather well illustrated. Rokujou paused for a moment, brushing the edge of his cheek where the kick had impacted, musing about other things. How the blonde's milky skin is always cooler than his, even now when they're both heated and strained. Naturally, his eyes wandered as they often do. Or at least, he imagines that is what sparked the confrontation. The blonde had been facing away, shoulders taught under a thin tank-top, stretching casually in a manner that utterly accentuated what the older man had already come to appreciate as a particularly teasing, slender neck that now had a fine sheen of sweat that he could practically taste from here. There may have been an unexpected sound in the back of his throat. Come to think of it, that might have been what startled his companion more than the eye thing.

Needless to say, Rokujou sidles the blame on himself. He started this a few months ago by getting into what was in the larger scheme of things, a trivial fight and then more importantly, getting himself very involved by way of firing the alarm to alert the police. After which he'd promptly manhandled the leader of the yellow-scarves to safety. Without anyone's respective permission. To this day, he's not exactly sure what spurred it on.

Part of him insists that it was simply the right thing to do and was advantageous to himself... how did his ladies put it...the enemy of my enemy and so forth. Additionally, he wasn't about to let a scumbag like that Izumii prick get off scotch-free, after not only interrupting his own duel, but fighting dirty. Men should have standards after all.

The more self-aware part of Rokujou was fairly sure he was already taking a shine to the young leader, the 'shogun' of the Yellow Scarves. What a title. He could have just trusted the kid's own gang to get him to safety after all, but he didn't do that, did he? Between the blonde's eager banter and the exchange of blows there was something Rokujou found familiar. Maybe even lapsing into respect. They were alike no doubt, though he muses that Masaomi is a bit more feminine, and hell of a lot more feisty. It brings another smirk to his face when he remembers. Those honey-colored eyes widening in shock as he quite literally stole him, scooping him over his shoulder to vault to freedom below...he should have known then he was going to be in trouble.

The day led to more surprises, particularly when his casual, off-hand offer was actually accepted. He wasn't counting on that, tickled for sure, but unexpected none the less. He was used to listening, with his honies around it was something of a necessary job skill. It usually didn't play out like this though. He had offered the youth his ear and... was met with a kind of unabashed honesty he hadn't quite steeled himself. Normally people are cagey, everyone has something to hide. But not this kid. The story thus far came literally pouring out of Masaomi Kida's mouth. And for all his brass, the youth was struggling to deal with it. Badly. Making it terribly more complicated than it needed be. He'd learn later that it was a habit for the young leader. Complications.

By the end of the talk, Rokujou couldn't say he particularly understood—the situation seemed simple enough, just... unpleasant. So he made a call. Decided to help. And for a number of reasons. They were even now, fair and square since the duel was a draw, he could do as he wished and there was no doubt he could spin some advantage from this mess. Of course, though he wouldn't admit as such, not yet, curiosity was reeling it's dangerous head. If he got this much information so easily, what else could he gain?

He was lucky that curiosity wasn't the death of him this time. Rokujou was damn glad that situation was over. He's not sure if he's ever seen such a tangled mess. It's resolution has made his decision to stay a bit longer in the city much, much more inviting. He had to say, he was enjoying the ride thus far. And he's been good on his word and hasn't destroyed the place. Would you look at that.

The two leaders since have fallen into a comfortable routine sort of acquaintance as the next few weeks passed into the next few months. The trauma of events was brief as it often is in a place like this. The city moved on, as did it's players. He was finding it to compelling and a lot more distracting than he expected. Of course the blonde had something to do with that. The company was enjoyable, and Rokujou for his part, still had quite a bit to learn about the smaller, but far more convoluted city than his own.

They talked business briefly but mostly their conversations were idle shenanigans, passes at local dames and less-serious stories from their respective groups. Cheap thrills. It was liberating. Terming their meetings as friendship might have been a stretch, but Rokujou was largely more interested than he should have been. There was something about this kid. His brass, his arrogance, his eager need overcome others. The way his hair fell over his eyes and the snarky smile that served a cover for any more pressing emotions he had. He was a liar. A beautiful one.

It didn't exactly come as a surprise when Masaomi's injuries had largely recovered that the youth asked him for a rematch. An incident he could forever tease him with, Rokujou quite plainly kicked his ass. Setting the groundwork for the young leader's newest goal. Without any real intention of the sort, sparring thus became a regular hobby amidst their more varied encounters. As one day, according to Masaomi, he was gonna kick the shit outta him.

His total investment comes later. After sharing more than a few stories about his own exploits, Rokujou was floored by the blonde's lack of familiarity with a motorcycle. In a city like this? Well, he wasn't Toramaru for nothing, Rokujou could, and damn well was going to fix that. It would only be polite at this point. Of course, he had to term it as a challenge. It wasn't as though Masaomi would ever agree to being taught anything. He just prodded him persistently on his inability to drive. It worked marvelously.

The frequent company of the blonde made his boys a little uncomfortable at first, waltzing in with the leader of the Yellow Scarves like it was ordinary. They grew accustomed to the snarky blonde in short order. He had fight in him, a thing they could understand. Rokujou knew it would be that way.

As it turned out, the kid wasn't just quick-witted, he was a quick-learner and a damn natural if Rokujou ever saw one. It's a fond thought when he considers the precise moment when he realized he was doomed. Right then, when he let the slender youth onto his girl, the only one he really belonged to, his bike...that was the moment the coin dropped. The sight made his mouth go dry. Masaomi had swiped his riding jacket earlier, and set there, a confident tilt in his jaw like he owned her. His hair was windswept, a mess, bandanna pulled down about his neck. His eyes were blazing, molten-gold, un-tameable as always. And he looked so, so damn proud.

Rokujjou realized it too, that he was just as proud, standing there, staring with a swell in his chest. It was alongside a much more startling, crystal-clear realization that he was irrefutably falling in love with Masaomi Kida.

His casual interest shifted gears into conquest practically overnight.

Rokujou hadn't been entirely sure until now if the blonde had even noticed. He wasn't accustomed to Masaomi's subtler and often unclear reactions to his playful advances. He wasn't pushing too hard, he already had acted pretty boldly without permission once, he owed the youth a degree of respect this time. That said, he had never expected any girlish drama during the chase. As tantalizing as the image of the blonde blushing or gasping in response may have been, Rokujou was well aware he wouldn't behave as such. It would be a weakness, and the youth was particularly good at keeping his image firm.

And he didn't disappoint. His posture was always defiant, eyes brazen as usual. It was a treat when he'd catch a longer intake of breath when his hands lingered longer than they should have. He'd ghost over the youth's fingers on his handlebars, draw back far too slowly from a grapple, allow what should have been a friendly pat on the back to shift into a warm squeeze of the shoulder. It might not have been as forward as he was with the ladies, but it sure as hell wasn't subtle. Sometimes Rokujou was certain he'd seen those fierce eyes soften just a bit, but he may have just been daydreaming. A habit of his. The youth always turns, plays it off as ordinary. Afterall, he was a ladies-man through and through. Just like him. Masaomi certainly had mettle, and it wasn't deterring the older man whatsoever.

It had been a ordinary enough night, the abandoned warehouse largely dark outside the room they sparred in, as they finally took a breather. Rokujou was pleased, he'd taken a kick, but it was a smart one. The kid was getting better. It gave him a particularly pleasant rush, despite the wave of heat settling in the air. He'd long since discarded his coat and rolled up his pin-striped sleeves. Kept the hat of course. He continued to muse between catching breaths, trying to keep his amusement to a minimum, and quit fantasizing over the possibility that the impact might have bruised. The week all in all was ordinary even, though he'd only met up with Masaomi twice. Which was comparatively scarce to other weeks. Their outings had gotten quite regular if not exactly advertised. They trade off meals, spar, ride, occupy the time. So, he might have been getting a bit carried away and not even over a woman. Kind of ironic really. But the sight ahead of him reminded him why.

Masaomi Kida was beautiful. He'd come to that realization some time ago. He had a natural pretty-boy air, a slimmer figure, delicate hair, refined features... but there was something much more perplexing than that initial image, stirring underneath all his banter. There was guilt, and a history of blood, but mostly a need to exceed himself, one that never faltered in it's enthusiasm. The youth lived in a world of black and white extremes, his investment was all or nothing. It would probably get him killed, it nearly did once already. He was far too serious for his age, but compelling, he'd give the boy that.

Especially in moments like this. Rokujou's eyes slide over his interest lazily. The youth has pushed beyond his bodily limits to compete, straining to the point of excess, but never admitting the difficulty in any facet of his posture. Over time the older man has been able to pick up the less obvious signs, a slight tremor where a muscle is simply too taught, steady breath that skips just a bit more than usual. He notices other things too. An upward tilt to his shoulders, a push forward of the chest, a tug at the corner of his lips. Masaomi is proud of that hit, feeling accomplished, a barely there chuckle under his breath.

Assuredly, Rokujou was just as pleased at his progress. One of these days, he'd get to illustrate that more clearly. Vividly He gulps at the thought. His eyes dart to a location they often linger, following the line of sweat down the youth's jaw to that damned neck. Frustrating.

The sound at the back of his throat wasn't loud, but it may have had a needy, guttural quality that was scarcely appropriate as Masaomi's gaze snapped back towards him, a threatening glimmer.

A less-honest, more likely to play it safe sort of person might have looked away, covered his gawking with some degree of modesty, made any effort to remedy the situation. Not Rukujou Chikage. He was as good as caught, what was the point? He leaned back on his heels, hat tilting back with the motion of his head, continuing to eye the youth in apparent hunger, daring.

Masaomi's eyes were challenging, daggers, his body rigid. His voice is just as sharp when he speaks,"You are aware I have a girlfriend, right?"

 _Ah. There it is._

His smile is reflexive, and maybe just a bit predatory in it's confidence before he sighs, a bit exasperated. His shoulders shrug.

 _Here we go again, making it complicated._

He finds himself in that position again, the youth is sputtering and he has to break it down. Not that he minds, but he has better ideas on how to spend the time. It doesn't help matters that Masaomi always has this dark air of conflicted emotion when he speaks of the girl. Love should never be that difficult. He'd have to approach that topic another time, but for now, the older man keeps his tone amicable in his explanation.

"Yes, her name is Saki. You do mention it, you know. I have, let's see..." the chestnut-haired man makes a point of counting on his fingers. "Five, at the moment. If that clears something up for you, you know I like to keep it simple."

The blonde's posture falters, eyes a bit less threatening. Rokujou infers that firstly that was not the response his companion expected, and second it did not, in fact, clear something up. Amber eyes shift to the side clearly gauging the situation.

 _There you are opportunity. Been waiting forever._

Rokujou clears his throat and then the distance between them in a few strides, an arm quickly braced to the left of the blonde's head, letting him lean down well into the other's personal space comfortably. Cornering him might be a bit too much, but, eh, we were already here. Masaomi's eyes are somewhere between shocked and appalled at the sudden movement, reflexively backing which leads him nowhere save to the cool brick behind him. The older man is leering over him, expression amused but in no way malicious, maybe even a bit hopeful when he speaks. A tilt of the head, an eager smile.

"I have to say, I'm not certain what the connection is though. I don't think I've made any correlation between wanting you and the status of our pre-existing relationships have I?"

Once again, Masaomi Kida does not disappoint, even at such a blunt admission. He exhibits no blanket shock, no flush, no murmur, his mouth moves slightly, clearly considering his words carefully. Rokujou is pleased, this close, face hovering just above, he notes dilated pupils, a slight twinge at he corner of the youth's mouth. Lack of protest was bordering dangerously on permission as far as the older man was concerned.

Of course, Rokujou was aware this could turn on him easily. He might have been pushing his luck. He'd been slapped for less in the past by girls far less-volatile than the Yellow Scarves leader. Still, he could feel the youth's careful breathing ghosting against his skin and soak in every detail while he could. Definitely worth taking another hit for.

There's a sigh of annoyance as Masaomi rolls his eyes, "Shut up Rocchi," pushing both his palms against the other's chest with minimal pressure as a friendly gesture to back off.

It has the opposite effect as Rokojou feels his own heart rate spike, a tightening in his throat. He doesn't budge, and makes no effort to break eye contact. He swallows. There was no way he wasn't making himself perfectly clear. Not this time.

Masaomi's posture falters again as his attempt to brush the situation off fails. "Oh." His voice is a bit listless, not entirely there. Amber eyes narrow, darkening.

 _Yep._

There's no time for Rokujou to react as a smooth sweep kicks his feet out cleanly from under him, sending him reeling backwards. The impact of his head on the concrete is a bit sharp, but scarcely anything to worry about. He was durable to say the least. His hat rolls a few feet away as he settles on laying flat there, splayed, might as well be comfortable in his rejection. He muses with a dreamy sigh as his eyes consider the ceiling above, imagining other things.

 _Definitely worth the shot._

He startles at an unforeseen sensation.

 _Wait, what?_

For the first time in a long time, Rokujou Chikage is awestruck as an unexpected weight settles over his waist. The older man shuffles up onto his elbows, wide-eyed and looking. No amount of experience prevents his heart from skipping.

Mercy...he hadn't seen this coming. Masaomi hovered over him, straddling his waist, legs locked on either side of his hips. Rokujou scans for a weapon, but doesn't find one. Curious. It's one of a handful of times in his life that Rokujou fails to produce any words. Gawking wide-eyed, mouth slack, maybe a bit overwhelmed, he stares at the youth leaning over him.

Masaomi's composure is finally revealing something, even just a bit. The blonde's body has a tremor of restraint, his breathing erratic, heavier, more difficult. He gulps, Rokujou watches that lovely throat constrict as he hovers there. There's an unfamiliar haze in those eyes, like warmed honey, caramelizing in the heat. The older man imagines he is going to drown if he doesn't look away soon. He can feel himself flushing, even if the youth isn't.

The fabric at his collar is suddenly bunched in the youth's fist, lurching him up towards him. It's not gentle. He feels the blonde's breath at the side of his neck, just below his ear. Each exhale is startlingly hot, but it's giving him chills as it hits his skin. Utterly pleasantly shock waves ripple through his body. He feels Masaomi's hips shift slightly and he intakes sharply. There's no way he hasn't noticed.

When the youth finally speaks after moments of hazy silence, his voice is low, with an undertone bordering on amusement or maybe sadism, Rokujou can't quite tell.

"Simple, huh?" He punctuates his words forcefully, though his tone is scarcely above a whisper. Strands of blonde hair trace the edges of the older man's jaw. "You're insane."

He's released as the weight promptly vanishes, and Rokujou finds his acquaintance with the concrete once again. The adrenaline is all but choking him as his heart hammers loudly in his chest. He takes a moment to breathe, ensuring that he can burn a few of those images quite firmly into his memory. In some ways, that went quite well. His mind is swimming until his thoughts are interrupted by the jangling tone of metal chiming against metal.

 _So, he didn't leave. Interesting..._

Rokujou sits up, swiping his hat back as he does, looking for his part rather pleased. The amusement washes from his face immediately, replaced with a kind of abject horror. Masaomi is paused at the far door, leering, swirling a keyring around his index finger. His smirk is devilish at best, eyes blazing dominantly.

The older man reflexively paws his own pocket, where a familiar, exceedingly important set of keys was now absent. The patter of feet alerts him that his quarry was rapidly making his way out of the building, gunning for one thing that mattered above nearly all else to Rokujou.

 _That little shit!_

The chestnut-haired man is scrambling to his feet, disheveled, fumbling for his discarded jacket. He nicks the edge of the door frame on his stumble out, he feels the wood splinter. He'd probably have to fix that later.

"Son of a-" he groans, running full tilt down the hallway, puling his overcoat back on as he does, aiming for the nearest exit in frenzy. The hammering in his chest had yet to still. He wasn't certain if he was facing rage or excitement, but either probably amounted to almost the same thing. He was not getting his motorcycle jacked today. Object of his affection or not. There were some lines better left uncrossed.

He hears the rev of the engine as he skids to a halt just outside the warehouse. Mounted, cocky, and looking like he owns the thing, Masaomi has the nerve to look bored. He leans exasperated over the handlebars, back arched in a way probably far more teasing than he realizes. The blonde sighs. There's a twinge of annoyance and maybe something else Rokujou can't quite identify. "Are you coming or what?" His tone is curt but almost ordinary compared to a few moments ago.

It was the older man's turn to falter, pausing in place. His brows furrow as his concerns turn inward. Meanwhile, the corners of Masaomi's mouth barely resist the upturn of a smirk.

Rokujou finds himself hashing out his own principles. He had questions about this. But those were complications right? Did they matter? Was he going or not? Or was he just going to tackle the kid right the hell off his girl?

 _The nerve..._

Masaomi yawns adjusting his position, his voice just the slightest bit mocking. "Waiting... " He rolls his eyes in boredom. "I _can_ just leave without you, you know."

"The hell you are," the older man's restraint crumbles as he sidles onto _his_ motorcycle behind the youth. He chides himself, trying to ignore the potential insult of the situation.

 _Keep it simple Rocchi._

He wasn't sure how much he liked this idea of being forced to let the other drive. It was a personal rule he didn't appreciate breaking except of his own explicit accord. But, he didn't have much choice. One deep breath and an affirmative tap on Masaomi's arm. "Well?"

The rev of the engine served as an answer. They were off without as much as another word from the blonde.

Streets pass blindly. Rokujou doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings, continuing to muse as the blocks pass by. He doesn't know where they are going, so he supposes he couldn't right drive anyway. He resists the urge to snake his arms around the youth, knowing they would wander. Couldn't have him wrecking his baby. He sighs audibly at the shame of the whole thing.

As though reading his thoughts, his companion snips from ahead, "Now you're being polite, huh?"

 _Well, would you look at that?_

It brings a healthy chuckle to the older man's lips, a wide smile breaking across his features as they resume a familiar kind of banter. "I'm always a gentlemen, what are you insinuating?"

Masaomi doesn't answer him, shaking his head slightly. Rokujou laments that he can't see the youth's expression. While questions may have been bouncing about in that hat of his, he settles himself into an amicable silence, working on calming his hyperactive, raw senses and enjoying the company once again.

It's nearly a twenty minute ride before Masaomi comes to halt in front of a non-descriptive building Rokujou doesn't recognize. He shuts the engine off and promptly tosses the keys over his shoulder, sliding a leg up and over and disembarking without a word.

The older man catches the keys and pockets them as he watches the youth maneuver smoothly away. Masaomi's expression is a comfortable ordinary blank as he steps forward towards the building's main door. Rokujou can read little from him at the moment, an eyebrow arches curiously as he slides off himself and follows, as his companion seems to have been waiting. As he approaches the blonde slides a card through the reader at the left of the door, a heavy click indicates that it is open and he proceeds inside.

Rokujou observes his surroundings idly as Masaomi continues to lead with no additional dialogue. A front lobby, likely apartments, efficiencies if he had to to guess. Certain pieces were definitely coming together in his mind, but he tries to steel himself against becoming too eager. After all, his earlier slip up could have cost him his bike. Spacing out again wouldn't be in his best interest. Either way, he muses positively, it's a show of trust at the least and an invitation at best. Either he could work with.

A few turns and a flight of steps later, Masaomi has stopped at another door, expression still frustratingly neutral, swiping his keycard and dialing in the number pad. A brief click and the door is open, he flips a light switch and ushers the other inside with a simple gesture. Rokujou steps inside, removing his hat and confirming that his assumption was correct as he assesses his surroundings while the door swings closed behind him. The blonde has immediately kicked off his shoes. The older man follows suit, gathering it would be polite to do the same.

The apartment is small, utilitarian, and largely bare. Far more tame than it's inhabitant. Rokojou remembers that the location is supposed to temporary, which might account for it's bland flavor. Something falls a bit in his chest at the thought. The blonde never has mentioned just how long he was planning on staying.

There's a tap on the counter as Masaomi discards his keycard and wallet, finally turning his head, looking amused at his companion, smile tugging on his lips.

"We're even now, right?"

Rokujou's head tilts to one side, disheveled red-brown hair sweeping to the side. He's not quite following.

 _Even?_

Masaomi continues leisurely, fingers idly dragging along the counter while his expression reads as decidedly satisfied. He keeps talking.

"It's payback really...you deserved it. You stole me without permission, so...here we are. Fair is fair, right?"

It dawns on Rokujou.

 _I'll be damned._

He's quite been taken at his own game. Manhandled, though less directly than he had, brought here, with or without his consent.

 _Brilliant._

His eyes squint shut as healthy laughter erupts from the Toramaru's chest, smile once again overtaking his features. He couldn't swindle his way out of that one. "Yeah, yeah, you got me there..."

It happens quickly.

His breath is cut short as his dark eyes widen. He isn't sure when the blonde cleared the length between them, but his lips are soft but bruising against his own, fingers twisted in his jacket, pulling him closer as though the action was ever going to be necessary. He feels himself smiling against the youth's advance. The hat slips out of his fingers, hand moving to the back of the blonde's head, fingers tangling into his hair, leveraging, pulling back to give the older man better access while his other arm snakes possessively around Masaomi's waist.

 _Not getting away this time._

Rokujou's response is eager, though far more practiced, tongue trailing over the other's bottom lip. A slight but utterly appreciated gasp of breath was all he needed to demand access, slipping into the younger man's mouth with a shudder, met without protest. His thoughts whirl in haze. Murky. Honey. A slight tinge of salt. He could tell by the taste, this was not going to be a short fixation. The kiss is fervent, needy, and goes on for too long, even as Masaomi's fingers are already tugging the edges of his jacket over his shoulders.

He finally pulls away for air, which seems to be appreciated as the blond is breathing heavily against him. A tinge of color finally staining his features. Their bodies still crushed together despite the reprieve, he can the feel the younger man against his leg, sending another wave of heat to his core. It was reassuring at the least, that he wasn't the only one wound awfully tight tonight.

For all his status as both seducer and fatal romantic, he can't quite avoid a quip in light of the course of events. A smug smile crosses his face. The youth too, deserves it, for playing so difficult to get. "Awfully bold aren't we?"

For the first time, Rokujou observes what he believes to be a twinge of embarrassment on Masaomi's features. It's endearing as the blonde huffs, fumbling for a response. One side of his mouth curls in annoyance, the eyes narrowing despite their heavy lids, all that fire he admired still there. Daring him at every instant. He was never,, ever disappointing.

"You talk too damned much, shut up for once!" The demand was clear but Masaomi left him no time for response, forcibly covering his mouth with his own. It was like flipping a switch, as all the ferocity of the youth returned.

The blonde was all hands and tugging, desperate fingers. Rokujou's jacket finally slipping to a crumpled pile at his feet as the blonde clambered onto him, demanding more contact. He could definitely do something about that. Masaomi's slim figure made that easier. It doesn't take much effort to hoist him up by the thighs, hands trailing back to a flank that was just as satisfying to grasp as he'd imagined. His companion seems to understand well enough, legs twining over his hips as the older man turns, bucking the blonde back up against his wall.

The initial impact grinds them together in a moment of delicious friction. Masaomi's gasp is sharp as he feels the muscles in the youth's thighs strain, as though trying to force them closer. Any means to recreate what just occurred.

Rukojou busies himself, kisses trailing over the crest of the blonde's ear, lapping leisurely down his jawline. He nips playfully, there is an impatient groan in response, a vague struggle as Masaomi tries to heave himself upwards against him. The older man holds him fast, though a pleased smile turns on his lips.

 _Patience._

He resumes, slower.

Masaomi has gotten his hands under the collar of Rokujou's button-down, fingers grasping against the skin of his shoulders. Digging in as the youth steadies himself. Even as prone as this, tangled around him, he refuses to show weakness, even if he is struggling to keep his breath even.

His tongue trails lower, finally arcing over the curve of the neck that's mesmerized him for months. The blonde's skin is still salty.

The urge isn't typical or even becoming of him, but Rokujou indulges, maybe just this time. This was a different experience after all. A different animal.

He bites just at the base of Masaomi's neck, teeth sinking, not to draw blood, but forceful enough. The intake of the blonde's breath is intense, but he doesn't cry out. He hears a tap against the wall as the blonde's head leans back, breathing through it, a groan of restraint.

 _Good._

He relaxes his jaw as the youth's skin snaps back with a suckling pop. He dotes over the bruise with gentle kisses, free hand finding the edge of Masaomi's face, brushing pale locks back in a caressing motion. He finds his mouth again, panting, takes him into shallower, sweeter kisses.

Masaomi's fingers trail across his collarbone and begin picking at his buttons.

Rokujou smiles at his eagerness. His tongue slides over swollen lips before delving back inside, languidly moving, content to take his time. The sound he hears is a quiet, but needy whine in the back of the teen's throat.

Mmmh. He could get used to that.

He bucks his hips upward sharply, grinding their strained cores together. A startled moan escapes Masaomi's lips. He flushes immediately in embarrassment, clasping a hand over his mouth in evident horror.

He could _definitely_ get used to that.

He knows he's grinning as he's tugging Masaomi's hand away, interlacing their fingers, squeezing before pulling their hands to the side of the blonde's head. He's reassuring, covering the other's fumbling mouth with his own, a groan behind his kisses as he begins grinding forward. The body against him shudders while the sound is muffled by his insistent mouth. The friction was exhilarating as he spends a few moments grinding the willing blonde into his apartment wall. His heart rate was climbing. It was good, but he was almost painfully hard pushing against him like this.

 _Not enough._

Rokujou's eyes glance about the room, noting the bed to the far corner. The blonde seems to notice his direction of interest and nods, loosening his legs from around the other man's waist. Rokujou presses a kiss to his forehead and lets him down. He wobbles slightly, it makes the other man smirk. Looking down at him, Masaomi is a mess, _his_ mess and he's utterly fixated with the sight. Blonde hair disheveled well outside of the spectrum of its ordinarily careful grooming, a flush is beginning to creep around the youth's neck. Masaomi is still catching his breath, but his eyes are a welcome fire, devouring the man that's gawking in front of him.

The blonde steps closer, resuming his earlier task, fingers finding the remaining buttons on Rokujou's shirt and loosing them with a slow, focused intention as he watches the other man's expression. For all his worth, the older man can do little but watch as the beautiful thing unfastens the last of his buttons, pulling the shirt open with an expression of appreciation before tugging it down over his shoulders. Pale hands begin exploring his warm skin as the striped fabric hits the floor, lightly trailing over his sides and across his chest, leaving chills where he touches. Rokujou groans appreciatively, hand finding itself in the blonde's hair, urging.

Masaomi pauses, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. The older man isn't quite prepared for the wave of heat that comes with matching the heavy lust in the youth's eyes. There's a growl in his throat and he's leaning down for the other's lips, hand firm at the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He's finding the taste of the youth intoxicating, fumbling for deeper, wetter kisses. He's being pushed back as his tongue winds around Masaomi's, the boy's weight urging him backwards. He complies, with careful steps back across the room, more than willing to see this through. He just gets his hands under the hem of the blonde's tanktop, snaking up the youth's back when he feels the impact against the back of his calves.

Masaomi doesn't stop pushing as Rokujou buckles, falling backwards onto the mattress with a light groan.

He is wide-eyed as the youth is still standing there, watching with dark-eyes, seemingly considering something as his tongue darts out over his swollen lips. The image knocks the breath from the Rokujou's chest. Masaomi peels his soaked shirt over his head, discarding it to the floor. The older man gawks as the youth continues, undoing his belt at a somewhat torturous pace before stepping out of his pants, letting the fabric fall as the buckle clicks against the ground.

Masaomi is hovering over him, one knee finally sliding onto the bed beside his leg as Rokujou is leaning back up eagerly into a heated kiss. The older man's hands wander over the pale skin of the blonde's back, lingering before dipping lower boldly, a firm squeeze to his ass, urging him closer.

There's an approving sound in the blonde's throat before he pushes Rokujou back, forcefully tugging him further up the bed, feet no longer dangling. His weight settles over the older man's hips, leaning down to resume a fervent kiss, hand's wandering over his exposed skin.

It's a slight moment of deja vu for Rokujou, recalling earlier events, though he settles on preferring this version as an eager mouth bites at his bottom lip before breaking the kiss, warmly leading to the side of his face. The youth's kisses trail down the side of his jaw, to his neck and farther, alternating with swipes of his tongue and barely there grazes of his teeth.

He startles with a hitch of his breath when the youth bites down violently just before his shoulder. He's grinning internally even as those teeth hold him fast. He imagines that it is more payback.

 _Fair is fair._

As Masaomi's mouth releases him he exhales, only to intake again as he notices his own distraction as the youth had been hastily undoing his belt, sliding the leather out from him and tossing it aside. Blonde hair largely hides his eyes from Rokujou, but the older man notes the upturn of his lips, devious as thin fingers make quick work of his buttons and zipper. He isn't quite expecting it when the youth's fingers hook under the hem of his boxers, pulling them off alongside his pants.

 _Bold again I see..._

He can't help a sigh of relief as his erection bobs forward, hypersensitive to the sudden air, now free from it's constraints as Masaomi tosses the remainder of his own clothing into a pile at the foot of the bed. The youth is only gone momentarily and quickly returns to kissing where he left off at that healthy purplish mark, leaving a wet trail downwards.

The blonde pauses, finding time to nip at his exposed nipples, tongue swirling around them as they become erect, grazing his teeth over the tip just enough to elicit shudders from the man under him. Rokujou has a hand tugging lightly at the other's hair, holding on for all intensive purposes. He gulps dryly as the youth continues lower. Admittedly, this was rather more than the Toramaru leader had expected. Not that he was complaining.

He feels his breath first, teasingly hot against his length. Amber eyes flick upwards to look. Masaomi smirks. Rokujou wonders briefly what he looks like to other man, to have that reaction. He doesn't have much time to think about it as Masaomi's tongue suddenly runs down the length of him, sending a distinct shock wave to his groin. There's a sound in the back of his throat, low, growling. It seems to have some effect as the blonde's features shift to a kind of heated determination as he slips his mouth around him.

Rokujou is enveloped in welcomed heat, the immediate pleasure sends his eyes back as the youth begins moving slowly, dragging his lips back up and then down with a hollow of his cheeks. He lingers at the tip before taking him whole in a solid motion. He feels the sudden shift and knows a moan comes from his mouth. He tries not pull to blonde's hair too hard, but finds his other hand bunching into the sheet.

The blonde continues bobbing up and down, a hum in his mouth that is causing a problematic sensation. Rokujou can feel his composure breaking as heat pools somewhere in the back of his stomach. It was going too quickly, too intense. He stills himself enough to look down at the blonde.

It's an utter mistake as he does and immediately lurches, having to forcibly still his own excitement at the sight of just how flushed Masaomi was, all watering eyes and exerting himself over him as he slipped in and out of those lips. It was far too much.

"Shit..."

Rokujou is pulling the blonde up by the hair, harder than he should which startles him, a popping sound as he's pulled off of the other man's length and tugged up into a bruising kiss. Hands clench onto the youth's shoulders pointedly as the older man's chest heaves in an attempt to calm himself. It takes a few moments of distracted kissing to right his breathing. The youth stills, lapping at the the other man's mouth, being held in place seems to get the point across.

He finally pulls back, panting at the other's mouth, seeing the haze in amber eyes that are still watching him with interest. Masaomi plants another shallow kiss before settling down onto the mattress, sprawling upwards and cat-like, stomach pressed to the bed. There's something akin to a whine that escapes his lips and it has Rokujou gawking once again at the body splayed before him. He was being direct about all this, Rokujou would give him that. Once again, never disappoints.

There's a slight arch of his back as Masaomi glances over his shoulder at the man hovering there. An eyebrow is quirked, silently asking if there's a problem. The older man smirks.

No sir, there was no problem here, carry on.

He leans down over the youth, pressing his chest into his back, nuzzling his face just behind Masaomi's ear, rustling his hair in the process. He breathes deeply, relishing in the smell, noting a sigh below him, and runs his hands down the youth's bare sides, feeling a tremble the lower he gets. He kisses just behind the blonde's ear, fighting a groan himself as his hardness is pressed firmly against the blonde, a tease of what he was expecting later.

His voice isn't as suave as he'd have liked, breathy as he chokes out, "What can I use?"

The blonde doesn't answer but fumbles with the arm that is stretched over the bed, dipping under it. A moment of rustling later and a small bottle is promptly tossed over his shoulder.

 _Oh._

It simultaneously answered and produced a number of questions all at once. Rokujou would be a brazen liar if he said he wasn't surprised. But it wasn't as though it mattered either. It would come up in conversation someday or it wouldn't. He had a much more specific concern at the moment. With any luck, making an utter, desperate mess of the shogun of the Yellow Scarves. He groans aloud at the image and places the bottle in easy reach.

He nips the back of Masaomi's neck, causing the youth to shudder. He's utterly pleased by the goosebumps that have risen there. He continues kissing a trail to the boy's shoulders, hands busily exploring elsewhere, snaking under him to lightly tug at his nipples. He dips to his spine, content to lick a single line to the small of his back, eliciting a outcry from Masaomi he'd have to be sure to replicate. The blonde's breathing has gotten shaky, and he seems to be muttering under his breath incoherently. It was terribly arousing.

He breathes over the tender flank below, biting down, not hard, enough to make a point. He pulls the youth's thighs back, urging him slightly up to his knees, rubbing circles with his thumbs over his hips.

Masaomi is still fumbling over words he only half understands. "Listen, you don't ha-" The youth is cut off as he dips his tongue lower, just over the opening, muscles tensing immediately. The sound from the blonde under him is strangled but in no way unpleasant, muffling as he clearly stuffs his face into the pillow nearby in embarrassment.

The older man is pleased, smirking once again at the youth's responsiveness. He trails his tongue around the tight ring of muscle and feels a violent tremor under him. He settles for holding the other's hips in place, continue to tease as the youth twitches. He has scarcely dipped his tongue inward when Masaomi has all but screamed into the pillow. He notes how incredibly strained the blonde's erection is, leaking at the head.

He decides to be sympathetic. This time. It wasn't as though he wouldn't be doing this again, and he downright _needed_ Masaomi to stop hiding. He reaches for the bottle nearby, being generous with the fluid on his fingers before proceeding. A tentative thumb circles the lubricant around, he hears the blonde's sharp intake of breath.

A cautious finger prods inside slowly. He observes the blonde's hands gripping the sheet with a light hiss, face still crushed his pillow.

"Okay?" he asks, needing to be clear in this situation, gently moving his finger in place to stretch carefully.

The blonde nods wordlessly. He takes that as an affirmative to continue. A second finger teases carefully at his opening, he feels the blonde's body become rigid once again as he pushes it forward. He pulls gently, spreading between the two. Masaomi's voice has settled to a low, level growl into the pillow. Rokujou imagines it's time to push a little harder and applies pressure, curling his fingers at a specific spot.

He feels the shock course through the blondes body as his back arches up, moan breaking out freely as the other man's head leans back away from the bed.

"Better?" He asks aloud, though knowing full well the answer as he makes a point of drawing his fingers out and pressing back in to the same location, eliciting another cry of pleasure. Masaomi's eyes are beautifully wide and overwhelmed, his skin stained with flush.

He picks up his pace, his fingers moving with more vigor, scissoring, careful to stretch him as well as possible while continuing to hear that sound from his lips. Watching the expressive blonde respond so honestly, he wouldn't be able to keep this up long. He adds a third finger which has Masaomi stringing obscenities into the pillow, along with a demand to "get the hell on with it."

Rokujou pauses, the younger man slick and constricting around his fingers, hips moving against him greedily.

He licks his lips in appreciation, eyes glazing over the defined edges of the youth's shoulders, takes note of a few nameless scars on his back, admires the curvature at the base of his spine. His mouth is dry again while he can feel his erection straining. Masaomi makes an insistent noise, moving his hips in evident frustration. Rokujou smiles, a murmur of affirmation under his breath as he withdraws his fingers.

 _Enough of that._

He grips Masaomi by the shoulder and opposing hip and flips him over, settling him as gently as possible. The blonde's eyes are wide, bottom lip moving with an obvious air of uncertainty, brows knitted together. Amber eyes dart immediately to the side, a turn of the head, not looking. The behavior stills Rokujou, an eyebrow quirked, confused.

It takes a moment of considering the blonde's irritated expression before it dawns on him. He obviously didn't want to be seen as such. That pride of his firing up again. He thinks he's fucked up.

Rokujou smirks inwardly at the scene. Masaomi really should know him better by now. His hands trail down the youth's right leg, carefully lifting, nuzzling his face against his foot, watching, waiting.

He wouldn't be taking him impersonally.

Rokujou was many, many things, but contrary to popular perception he was not a casual lover. His romanticism was an indulgence he took very seriously. How's the saying go- if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right?

He waits. Masaomi's other foot twitches impatiently. But he still refuses, amber-gaze locked to the side, eyes narrowed, irritated... bracing?

The older man smiles fondly. He had all the time in the world, he'd waited months already. Rokujou was a patient man, he'd get what he wanted eventually.

 _Well, if we're gonna be like that..._

He kisses the side of Masaomi's foot, eyes still on his face, sees a slight flutter of eyelids, only momentary before being stubbornly replaced with a scowl. The corner of Rokujou's mouth turns upward, taking his time with a slow lick from the ball of his foot up the through the arch.

He feels the youth tremor as Masaomi all but scrambles up to his elbows, a furious red across his features, eyes wide, obviously startled at the other man's unflinching gaze.

The blonde finally speaks, a shaky, incredulous sneer, "What the hell, man?!"

Rokujou looks incredibly pleased, finally being met by those honey-colored eyes. He smirks. "Mmh, that's better." Leaning forward to capture the blonde's lips again, a hand gently under the youth's jaw, a light flick of the tongue inside. His voice is soft as he pleads, "Stop hiding from me...please." He was unafraid to beg. Not for him. He resumes a kiss. He'd allow himself just one more taste before proceeding.

As he pulls back, he finds Masaomi looking somewhat dazed-out of sorts, more breathless than he imagined, eyes darting in a vague surprised movements over Rokujou's features.

The older man quickly lubricates himself once more before inching closer, drawing the blonde's other thigh up, a tentative squeeze, never breaking eye-contact. He waits.

Masaomi's eyes are still wide but he doesn't speak this time. A slight nod.

That's all he needed. Rokujou guides himself slowly into the youth's opening, pushing just beyond the tight ring of muscle and pausing. He could feel the heat running to his own face now, even with this shallow contact. Masaomi's intake of breath was slow, eyes screwed shut, wincing, fingers bunching the bed sheet. One eye cracks open at the reprieve, glazed, another nod.

He continues pushing himself in, slowly, observing the blonde's reactions carefully while trying to keep his own head clear against the tight heat enveloping him. Finally seated to the hilt, he takes a deep, wavering breath. Masaomi's pale skin is flushing, a warm pink at the top of his chest, snaking up his neck. The youth intakes sharply, eyes half-opening as his grip on the sheet loosens, damp bangs clinging to a glistening forehead. His expression isn't so harsh, but defiant none the less, eye's piercing. His words are choked but forceful when he speaks, "Move," having to take a few shaking inhales, "damnit..."

The older man groans, complies, bucking his hips lightly and approving of the pleased sound that escapes the blonde's lips. He pulls back, nearly out before pushing forward again slowly, exploring the sensation while the youth breathes carefully. He repeats himself, biting his own lip, reaching the limits of his own restraint quickly as he pulls out and thrusts back in all at once, angling precisely where he needed to as the moan from Masaomi is both sudden and guttural and has the blonde's hands clasping over his mouth again.

 _None of that._

He fumbles the blonde's hands away, bracing them down as begins thrusting in timed pushes, his own breath hitching. The sight of the boy in front of him was unraveling him too quickly. Each thrust has more responsive sounds from Masaomi's lips, his body clamping down on him, soon pushing back with his hips to meet the older man's movements. Their rhythm was imperfect but effective as every matched thrust met another moan from somewhere deep in his throat, their awareness lost to the haze of panting breaths and heat.

His head swam, overwhelmed with the sensation and simply being able to see, the youth's breathing was getting erratic. It would be soon. The older man wanted more contact still. He isn't sure when he dropped back to a seated position, pulling Masaomi on top of him tightly. This close he could wraps his arms around the youth, one clinging to the small of his back, the other weaving itself into blonde hair at the back of his head, urging. The youth was in no better shape than he with eyes scarcely aware, but seeming pleased to press himself closer, wrapping his legs around his waist, chest pressed in, working his mouth against the older man, letting his fingers drag through his slightly longer hair.

Rokujou's thoughts are amused. If the youth preferred being in control he could have it. He groans deeply into Masaomi's neck where he's settled himself, bucking his hips just slightly. The position had them together so intimately it required little force to create friction. The tightening around him has him nearly falling apart, breathing desperately against flushed skin. He can feel the throb of the youth's erection against his abdomen. His voice is husky, dark just beside the blonde's ear. "Give yourself to me."

It has the desired effect as Masaomi immediately begins moving himself, rocking back and forth while his sounds become all the needier, arms around the other man, fingers clutching into the skin of his back. Rokujou pushes up in time with his movements as the youth, now squeezing around him erratically, the blonde's head dropping back. The older man snakes a hand between them, grasping the youth's erection, pumping.

It clearly sends him over the edge as Masaomi cries out, spasming, his release smearing over their chests, constricting down over Rokujou. He clings tightly through his orgasm, head back, eyes vacant in bliss. The sudden tightness speeds the older man's arrival as several thrusts and a glance to that gasping, beautiful mouth has him coming shortly after Masaomi, spilling into him as Rokujou cannot find the will to breathe. He's pawing blindly, trying the pull the blonde as close as possible, desperately seeking the other's mouth. His kisses are sloppy but terribly tender as he pulls himself out of the trembling youth, Masaomi hissing from the movement, a tfinal remor in his body.

Rokujou is smiling, still riding a high of pleasure as he carefully pushes the blonde back down to the mattress, continuing his attentions, trailing light, shallow kisses over his face. The older man is all but purring as Masaomi sighs finally, a pleasant kind of exasperation, serious amber eyes flicking to watch the other man's continued ministrations.

The older man can't quit define the blonde's expression. He settles down, facing him, messy chestnut hair settling against a pillow as he languidly tangles his legs into Masaomi's before finding one of his hands. He interlaces the fingers gently, pulls the hand closer to his lips, kisses the back of it intently, never breaking eye-contact. He occupies himself caressing that hand, observing the youth in front of him.

His expression worries Rokujou, though he had expected something like this. It just how the leader of the Yellow Scarves was. Worrisome. Invests so wholly. He could see it happening in that lovely head of his, always winding up too tight. His honey eyes had an uncertain tinge over them, brows dropping just slightly. Rokujou could see snippets of so many things at once there, watching him wordlessly. Concern, fear, guilt, relief, to name a few. There he goes again, making it complicated.

There's a light chuckle on Rokujou's lips and it clearly startles the youth, expression dropping further into the realm of real concern. The older man shakes his head, a lopsided smile slipping across his features.

He taps their hands against the blonde's forehead playfully.

"Stop that."

Masaomi's expression shifts to startled confusion, eyes narrowing slightly when he speaks, obviously jarred from his thoughts. "Stop what?"

Rokujou sighs, a smirk, he taps their hands against the boy's head again. The action is clearly irritating the younger man. "That," he responds flatly.

The blonde is not amused. Brows furrow together with a huff as his eyes take a familiar fierce light. "What the-" He's cut off by firm lips on his own, lips that have the nerve to be smiling about this.

Rokujou keeps him there, just long enough to have to push for breath, drawing back, watching the object of his affection panting for breath but still glaring, if not so strongly. A hand brushes through the blonde's hair with a tutting sound.

"Keep it simple Masaomi." His tone is light, genuine. It startles the blonde. Rokujou's smile turns inwards at his own dialogue. He'd been saving that for a while. He's referred to his now-lover by many things-kid, brat, shortie, shogun, Kida-but never his given name. He liked the way it felt on his tongue. And if the delicate flush over the blonde's cheeks was any thing to go by, he liked it, too.

The blonde makes a disgruntled sound of annoyance and then a sigh, clearly giving up on the issue but not the war and relaxing back down against the bed, closing his eyes, defiantly not going to look at the other man.

Rokujou chuckles in amusement. He knew it'd be like this, the young leader persistently refusing to admit anything his wild mind could construe as defeat. If difficult, the habit was terribly endearing.

The older man turns onto his back, stretching his limbs casually with a yawn, glancing to the blonde, who was no doubt utterly aware of him, even if he wouldn't look. He braces an arm behind his head, propping himself up, ready to push his luck. Afterall, it's just what he did.

"So..." he trails off, his voice entertained, almost musical in it's cadence "Admit that you're mine now?"

There's a whirl of air as the pillow collides into his expectant face.

"Shut up Rocchi." He feels the bed shift as the blonde likely rolls away from him, tugging the sheet up.

Rokujou smiles into the soft bulk of the pillow, his heart bursting in his throat, pleased.

 _You're mine now._

It was a simple fact. And he heard no denial of it either.

He's beaming as he settles against the blanketed form, draping an arm around him without protest.

He'd let the lovely blonde dwell for now, it was in his nature. Meanwhile, he'd let his own mind set to work at just how he might wake his new lover in the morning.


	2. Making it Complicated

His pale hands shake in a effort of self-restraint, curving inwards into fists locked defiantly at his sides. The air in the open room has gone suddenly stagnant in the space between them. A sharp intake of breath drains the moisture from his mouth, while his mind fumbles to find an adequate response to his companion's absurd outburst. Outburst? Reaction? No, he wasn't going to validate it enough to term it that. He couldn't.

 _Really._

 _The nerve of this guy._

The blonde can feel his fingernails dig into his own skin. He wasn't prepared to deal with this. The young leader had enough going on, he didn't need to add this to the ongoing list of things that pissed him off. He had no doubt his eyes were flaming amber pinpoints as he glared at the frustrating brunette gawking at him across the room.

Who has the nerve to look a bit surprised about this, as those he's trying to place what he just did.

 _Seriously?_

 _Dumbass._

He can feel a sigh hissing out of his throat as his mouth immediately fires back a retort. It is probably more venomous that it should be.

His companion doesn't seem to startle in the slightest. In fact, his shoulders relax, hat tipping to the side as his head tilts slightly, not faltering from his gaze. Something like a soft smirk has stolen over the older man's parted lips, sheepish, like he was relieved in being caught-

 _Stop that._

 _Damn it._

His mind was screaming that this wasn't happening and he'd like to believe it too. But the youth knew better, even if there was no way in hell he was admitting to that. This would just be another thing down the drain, huh?

It was probably going to happen eventually. Definitely, if he was being honest. But he wasn't good at that. The blonde for his own part had been putting it off, wanting to believe that this pleasant, easy company could continue as is. It's been beneficial on more than one count, and he'd be more of a liar if he said he hadn't been enjoying the dalliance. It gave him something to look forward to, a ladder to climb, something else to overcome.

Nowadays, he found his life was easier to look at that way. Objectives and fixed points. Especially after the chaos of the last year.

But-there was this bastard.

A few times he's considered how this exact situation might play out. And it should have been sooner, rather than later. He just hadn't convinced himself to go through with it, to be clear. Masaomi Kida wasn't ready to deal with it. And maybe he hadn't quite sorted out why. But his own indignant pride wasn't helping matters.

His playboy companion had a lasting reputation, he was aware of that. He wasn't aware that evidently is wasn't as limited to women as he'd once believed. Or he was an exception. A thought that was even more bothersome. Either way, the youth wasn't coming to terms with it in any plausible sense. He'd done very well at ignoring the possibility, stuffing it into some back corner of his mind. He brushed off any questionable interaction as a display of friendship in kind, trust and such. Bros will be bros...or something like that. Attachment wasn't unnatural. He'd tried that line of logic for some time. But the chestnut-haired man was getting more aggressive, even if he was being unusually polite.

It was his own fault for not dealing with it sooner. The blonde was exceptionally good at fucking his own life up.

Saying that the two had met under unusual circumstances would be an understatement. But, it was Ikebukuro after all, and things were getting exceedingly messy. Messier than usual and he was in well over his head with no easy way out. It was a few months ago.

The Toramaru leader approached him that day on the rooftop without warning. He was stylish, confident, and altogether too amicable for a rival gang leader. The man gave him a story he had no reason to believe, and an ultimatum he wished to have determined by a duel. One on one. Fair. A challenge as it were. Cocky bastard.

It was a kind of logic Masaomi understood. He maybe even appreciated it as he found himself smiling in eager banter back and forth. The man in front of him was familiar in a way, if a bit more flamboyant. Challenge accepted.

It didn't go as planned for anyone involved. Their exchange of blows was interrupted by quite possibly the last person Masaomi ever wanted to see again. Izumii and the scraps of the Blue Squares were being the filthy bastards they always were. Some things didn't change. It wasn't long before he was bleeding, his own men beginning to panic. This wasn't going to end well.

What he didn't see coming was the newcomer getting himself involved in very spur of the moment flurry of action. The chestnut-haired man had fired the building's alarm, forcing the situation to a hasty close. If that lopsided grin was anything to go by, he was damn proud of it too as the aggressors made an escape before the threat of any authorities could arrive.

That's about where things took another turn well out of the range of the blonde's foresight. In his injured state, he wasn't in much a place to fight back against being bodily swept up by the other man, quite literally being whisked off. It left the remaining yellow-scarves gawking as he was vaulted down off the building without any manner of consent or vague idea of what the fuck was going on.

Masaomi clearly remembers his own paranoia in the moment as he resigned himself for the worst. He couldn't come to any reason that wasn't dubious as to why he couldn't be left to the hands of his own, capable followers. Out of one frying pan and into another much less predictable one. There had to be some reason for abducting him so suddenly. Gears turned quickly in his mind, formulating a plan to fight back that came to a startling halt.

He was taken to a clinic for prompt treatment, bandaged and then being once again hauled back to his own base of operations. The older man's behavior was disarming to say the least, and his casual attitude bordered on infuriating. He was damn near acting like they were old pals, and weren't just at each others throats a few hours ago. Sure he was easy enough to talk to, but-

Settling into a seat, Masaomi was aware of the awkward silence that crept upward as the last of the their trivial banter faded and the blonde's heavier concerns began to weigh on his thoughts.

Either he was painfully obvious or Rokujou Chikage was exceptionally perceptive-he now assumes a bit of both- as the older man's immediate assumptions were dead on. The young leader was not in fact okay in any way he could frame it and for whatever reason, the Toramaru offered to listen.

The blonde blames his own weakness, his isolation-the weeks prior had been the most empty he'd ever spent in Ikebukuro-but for whatever reason, he caved to the other man's offer. Spilled his proverbial guts all over the warehouse floor while brown eyes observed him quietly, proving himself to the be as good a listener as he claimed.

Then he opened his mouth and Masaomi was somewhere between taken aback and bluntly insulted as the older man made a good show of breaking things down, and accusing him of making things more complicated than they needed to be. Said some shit about how it's really simple. Like he'd been around for all of it.

 _Asshole._

But, he wasn't entirely wrong. That pissed the blonde off more than anything. He didn't get much time to work up a response before being cut off again. Rokujou's sudden offer to help stunned off any line of thought he was working on. He had no reason to, but here the man was, insisting in his offer. Even after having gotten the shit kicked out of him by Shizuo nonetheless. He was either impulsive or stupid, probably both.

The other man's blunt manner might have been the kick in the ass the blonde needed, even if he wasn't going to admit to that much.

So things wound down, to a final confrontation that should have happened a lot sooner. Surprisingly, the blonde and his friends all survived, though he harbors his own doubts that he should have. He isn't certain that a shot alone was fair, but- nothing to be done about that now. Of course there was a lot of work to do. Recovering from his injury took time, and the housekeeping on the whole mess took work on the parts of everyone involved. Nevermind the state of his friendships. Those were going to take longer than anything. His time with Mikado was infrequent, and a bit strained. Repairing their friendship would take time, but so did most things worth keeping. He could live with that.

The young leader was surprised to learn that the Toramaru leader had decided to lengthen his stay in the city. It seemed he had not yet "experienced all the pleasures Ikebukuro had to offer." Typical. He certainly remained unchanged by all the mess, carefree as ever. It was a bit reassuring in an offbeat way. If nothing else, it gave Masaomi something to do, helping the other leader get acquainted while getting himself back on his feet. The blonde supposed he owed him that much.

The next few weeks passed into the next few months, with the city around moving onwards, unaffected by the trauma of events passed. The chestnut-haired man was very good at showing up unannounced, all but forcing the Yellow-Scarves leader to get some air outside and generally relax. It was an annoyance for a while, but gradually Masaomi found himself appreciating the company. Unusual though it might be, they had something in common. A similar perspective, if expressed a bit differently. The two fell into a comfortable-enough routine sort of acquaintance that got more frequent week by week.

Their outings only briefly concerned business and quickly shifted into idle, lighter topics. Exchanging stories, making bets, passes at local girls. Cheap thrills as Rocchi put it, in his more eloquent manner of speaking. Masaomi might not go so far as calling them friends, though they might have abused the term bro well enough between them. With Mikado being understandably distant and Saki remaining home out of the city, there was a kind of companionable vacancy in his days that the other man unintentionally filled.

Simply put, he was easy company. Though frustrating at times, Masaomi was certain he admired the man in a way. He seen something in the other man that he hadn't quite found in himself, not yet anyway. A certainty in his words, the clear, genuine confidence he could judge by the tilt of his shoulders and his casual posture. He envied his smile especially. His ease, his honesty, his lack of fear.

All were things the blonde was good at mimicking, but was ultimately hollow. There were things the youth couldn't let go. Things he'd seen, things he'd let happen. Recent events weren't above his criticism either. There was no sense in talking about, it was just easier for himself and everyone else to keep things light-hearted. He'd deal with it himself, he always did.

But his newfound acquaintance gave him something to focus on, to aim for. He wouldn't be beaten so easily, Masaomi was certain he could surpass him in time. As soon as his injury was fully recovered, he made good on that intention, challenging the Toramaru to a rematch.

He's certain now that he'll never live it down. The brunette's strength and endurance were freakish, and this time he had no trouble putting the blonde on his ass. He reminds him frequently of it, prodding him to work harder.

It set the groundwork for the young leader's most immediate goal. One of these days, he'd punch the smirk right off of the older man's face. Sparring thus became a regular hobby amidst their more varied encounters. He was learning-though he wasn't going to dwell on it and inflate the Toramaru's ego any further.

It's about then that the blonde began considering that things were getting too complicated. They were spending more and more time together, as he was being mentored in a way. And then Masaomi let it slip that he had no experience with a motorcycle. That was the end of that. Rocchi was in no way going to let that go, jabbing persistently until until the blonde retorted to the challenge.

It was a terrible habit of his. Not being able to back down and keep his pride in check. The other man had obviously figured that out, and had gotten quite good at playing him. Bastard. The blonde caved, or rather rose to the occasion. He wasn't going to be outdone, so he'd just have to match him. He was picking up hand to hand techniques there was no reason he couldn't observe and learn this from this too. Might as well make full use of the Toramaru since he was insisting on sticking around.

He had his reservations, hanging around the other man's gang. The initial encounter was a bit uncomfortable, though the brunette played it off as perfectly normal. He never misses a beat. Masaomi found he enjoyed the other gang well enough, they were more forward than his own men, more daring in a way. Probably because of where they're from, never having dealt with the cutthroat nature of things in Ikebukuro. After a few loud exchanges, it seemed he fit in well enough. And for whatever reason, they found his sarcasm amusing, and trusted their leader's decision wholeheartedly.

It was easy enough to get the hang of, so long as he tried at it. He found the loud machines more intriguing than intimidating, and rapidly came to understand why the group was so damn fond of them. Masaomi was always a quick-learner, he likes to think it keeps him alive from time to time.

Right there is when something went sideways.

He knew it then. Even if he couldn't quite put a finger on just what it was

.

He'd more or less passed any challenge the boys had thrown at him with flying colors. So he'd won the bargain as it were. Rocchi had agreed to let him to take his girl for a spin in celebration. And yes, the other man actually referred to his bike that way, and with a kind of reverent cadence that the blonde couldn't imitate if he tried.

The young leader remembers grinning, thoroughly thrilled with his own success, happy to throw it right back at his mentor.

 _Take that, asshat._

It went a little differently than he planned.

The blonde remembers the night being chill but exhilarating. After far too much carousing, he was a exerted but confident mess, and swiped the other man's unattended riding jacket. It was as much a display of accomplishment as a reaction to the cold. He mounted the waiting motorcycle, his chest swelling with pride and had with every intention to flip off his Toramaru companion in friendly defiance.

He faltered instead, pausing, the dare of his smile frozen. Others were cheering eagerly but he scarcely heard, stumbling over the other man's expression. He wasn't prepared for that. The other man was holding his hat in a kind of respectful gesture, reddish hair disheveled, with brown eyes both warm and wide staring in a kind of pleased awe. His mouth was slightly open, corners twitching upward as though attempting to form words to no avail.

The blonde felt his breath fall short, averting his eyes suddenly as something in his chest felt constricted, oddly aware of the timing of his own heartbeat. He started off to take a lap with a rev of the engine, masking the shock that was likely taking over his features. He could offer no reason as to why the older man looked so proud and uncharacteristically overwhelmed. Nor could he explain his own reaction, his head a bit dazed though his throat was tight, heart still slamming in his chest. When the hell did it get so warm? The drive did nothing to calm his nerves and he wound up returning home just as unsettled after feigning normalcy for the remaining night.

He remembers staring as his phone, fingers fumbling over his contact list. Pulling her name up repeatedly but always closing it.

The blonde _needed_ to tell her.

What exactly he didn't know.

That he was riding motorcycles now? _Yeah, because that was breaking news._

He tossed his phone, irritated. He wasn't making sense. As usual, he was letting things get to him that he shouldn't.

He pushed it to the back of his thoughts, stifling himself. Whatever it was, he was overreacting.

Masaomi has been doing his damnedest to hold onto that sentiment for weeks. Even if it was a lie.

He knew in his gut that something had shifted, subtly, but enough. Thankfully, the blonde was good at keeping himself under control. His mask was nearly perfect. He could joke and prod and generally shift most attention away without issue. Wouldn't have to deal with it.

Rocchi wasn't making it easy. Masaomi wished he didn't notice. So that he didn't have to consider if he was being toyed with or was just reading too much into it. But the other man wasn't a subtle creature, and the young leader was sharp.

The blonde tried to keep himself level, defiant. It was his usual persona, he's always been a good liar. It doesn't stop him from noticing. Too many details to count. For how ferociously strong he might be, the brunette handled everything he touched like it might break. How he favors leaning on his right side, but prefers his hat to the left. How the older man has warmer hands than his own. They are rougher too, and he occasionally misses tiny bits of oil about his nails. He notices when those fingers linger over his own longer than they should. When he ghosts over them on his handlebars, draws back too slowly from a grapple, or let what should have been a hearty pat on the back shift into a squeeze of the shoulder that causes the blonde's stomach to drop.

He never pushes any farther but... Sure, it wasn't the kind of forward he was with women, but Masaomi had a hard time ignoring what felt damn near like advances. That he shouldn't care about.

That he didn't care about.

Except that it got hard to breathe-with someone else in his space. He knows that the other man gets too close when he says goodnight. The blonde shouldn't know what his breath feels like, but he does.

Thankfully the youth could play it off easily. He always had an answer. He had fight in him, retorts for days, but he couldn't deny a nagging thought that those playful eyes seen right fucking through him.

That smile was haunting, and too damn fond.

He'd thought about phoning her at least three more times since then. But he always ends up scolding himself. It's not like they were... you know.

They spent time together.

Sparred.

Alternated who buys food that night.

That doesn't help does it? _What the hell, Masaomi? Get it together._

As usual he'd steeled himself. Nothing was happening.

Tonight fucked all that up royally.

It had been a ordinary enough night, the abandoned warehouse largely dark outside the room they sparred in, as they finally took a breather. Masaomi was beaming, having landed a solid kick that the other man had to take a moment to recover from. It was a particularly satisfying rush while the Toramaru's ear to ear grin was reassuring. The practice was getting him somewhere, the blonde could tell. He could probably never match his companions blunt force, but he was faster and agile. He was managing nicely.

Amber eyes briefly flicker towards the brunette before he turns with a shake of his head to relax. He can't help but feel a bit more confident, seeing the other man paused to catch his breath, breaking a sweat though he'd discarded his jacket some time ago. The blonde was only disappointed he'd yet to dislodge that hat of his. One of these days.

The youth takes his time to stretch, considering. The week thus far had been ordinary, though he'd only met up with the other leader twice. Which was scarce comparatively. Their outings had gotten regular if not exactly advertised. Between trading off meals, sparring, and riding, they occupied a fair percentage of each other's time.

The blonde shakes his head, choosing not to dwell on that line of thought. Seems the time off gave him some kind of edge if that hit was anything to go by. He chuckles lightly under his breath. That smile is infectious, the other man really needs to stop that.

He lets his thoughts wander just a bit more than usual.

He really quite hadn't figured it out. Why he was worth this much effort. Masaomi valued friendship as much as anyone, but he found it hard to imagine the chestnut-haired man didn't have other, more... profitable ways to spend his time. Not that he didn't appreciate the company, but he wonders if his companion has been slacking with his ladies, or simply finding himself with less business do on account of their outings.

The blonde reconsiders. Both of those things probably find their way to him, rather than the other way around. Rocchi was handsome and charismatic, immaculately dressed and probably too friendly for his own good. And he always smells nice...like bitter vanilla or spiced bourbon. Though the youth is suddenly unsure why that last detail was relevant.

 _Jeez..._

An unexpected sound startles Masaomi from his musing, amber eyes snapping back to its source in disbelief. It was somewhere from the back of his companion's throat, not loud but audible enough in the vacant room. It was something needy, bordering on guttural, and utterly inappropriate. Nevermind the older man's stare.

The blonde can feel his eyes narrow into daggers. He watches as a brief moment of surprise washes over the other man's features before shifting to something sheepish with a shrug. He appears to be infuriatingly unfazed by this, as the youth watching him shift his weight, a cocky lean back, hat tilting as those eyes resume their previous behavior. He can only read the expression as a kind of exhausted hunger.

Bold. And incredibly stupid.

Masaomi's eyes were challenging, violent, his body gone starkly rigid. His voice is just as sharp when he speaks,"You are aware I have a girlfriend, right?" It might have been icier than it needed to be, but the blonde was never good at things like this. He tries to maintain a clear stance, observing the other across from him, expecting some attempt at explanation.

The bastard has the nerve to smile. It's almost predatory, confident as though daring the youth to keep it up, but breaks into an exasperated sigh. The youth watches shoulders shrug in their pinstripes. He can't help but find the gesture condescending. That expression. Like _he's_ the one behaving irrationally here.

He'd like to punch it off him. Masaomi can feel the heat of rage pooling in his gut.

 _This asshole..._

He's cut off as Rokujou finally speaks, his tone light and amused.

"Yes, her name is Saki. You do mention it, you know. I have, let's see..." the chestnut-haired man makes a point of counting on his fingers. "Five, at the moment. If that clears something up for you, you know I like to keep it simple."

The blonde can feel his posture falter though he tries his damnedest to maintain himself.

 _Seriously?_

He long since assumed the other man was a bit off in the head, but he wasn't that stupid. The response wasn't in any way as simple as he liked to play it off as and the bastard was dodging the point. Amber eyes shift to the side, gauging the situation expectantly.

He watches something in the brunette's expression harden and his movements are sudden as he clears his throat and clears the distance between them in a few strides.

The blonde feels the cool brick of the wall behind him. There was no where for him to go as the an arm braced to the left of his head, Rokujou leaning well down into his personal space. Amber eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't flinch, expression still demanding answers. He wasn't about to be intimidated simply by having his comfort invaded. What the hell does he think he's playing at?

He tries gauging the other's expression. The brunette's breathing is level, focused while his expression reads a kind of amusement free of malice, maybe even a bit hopeful.

That last glint makes Masaomi's throat tighten as he swallows.

Rokujou's head tilts closer, breath inching over the blonde's skin with an eager smile, finally speaking.

"I have to say, I'm not certain what the connection is though. I don't think I've made any correlation between wanting you and the status of our pre-existing relationships have I?"

 _Wanting...?_

The blonde feels his stomach drop and what feels like all the blood drain from his face.

 _No._

He steels himself against any reaction. Shutting down was ofttimes his best defense. Remain blank.

He feels his own mouth move slightly, wetting his lips, considering what he might say with every degree of caution.

In front of the him the Toramaru is attentively watching. Warm eyes flicker over his features, clearly absorbing any detail he can, watching for any tells.

He could stop anytime now. There was such a thing as going too far. Dumbass.

 _Shut it down._

Masaomi sighs in annoyance, an attempt to break the atmosphere. He rolls his eyes. "Shut up Rocchi." He pushes his palms against the other's chest with minimal pressure, keeping his tone amused at the evident joke, a friendly gesture to back off while attempting to put space between them.

It appears to have the opposite effect. He sees the older man gulp slowly, a twinge of color rising in his face, but he refuses to break eye contact. He doesn't budge. Masaomi sees something in his eyes he doesn't want to deal with. Rokujou is making himself startlingly clear.

The blonde's posture falters again as his attempt to brush the situation off fails. "Oh." His voice is a bit listless, not entirely there. Amber eyes narrow, darkening.

 _No. Absolutely not._

There's no time for Rokujou to react as the blonde sweeps his feet out cleanly from under him in a smooth motion, sending him reeling backwards. Masaomi winces slightly hearing the sharp impact of the other's head against the concrete. He'll be fine, he was durable to say the least. The impact of his head on the concrete is a bit sharp, but scarcely anything to worry about. The blonde watches Rokujou's hat idly roll a few feet away as he appears to settle on laying flat there, splayed, as though comfortable in defeat. He hears the other man sigh, dreamily looking upwards at the ceiling.

The youth's breath comes in annoyed huffs, as he paces back and forth while the other man doesn't budge from his acquaintance with the floor.

 _WHAT the hell?_

Just who does this guy think he is?

He really should beat the snot out of him for this. This wasn't fair. He knew. The bastard knew he had Saki. Well he said he knew, but why then? Because it doesn't matter? So what if it's complicated? The blonde wasn't like him.

 _What am I doing? Why do I-_

The blonde tries to stifle the racing of his heartbeat.

 _NO._

 _Wait. No that's not it either._

Masaomi groans in irritation, tugging at his own hair haphazardly.

 _You know what?_

 _No. You don't get off that easy._

 _Hell no._

The blonde stills himself, coming to some kind of decision with a deep breath. He feels a foreign kind of aggression swell in his chest.

Angry, yes. He was just furious, obviously. Payback. That could he deal with.

 _What am I doing?_

 _Fuck it._

The chesnut-haired man startles as the youth drops onto him suddenly, settling his weight over the older man's waist. He straddles him, legs locked on either side of his hips, he wouldn't be going anywhere easily. Rokujou shuffles up onto his elbows, looking, eyes blown wide in disbelief, looking for something he doesn't find. Probably expects a weapon, but isn't going to find one.

Masaomi hovers over him, watching the other man stumble in a flabbergasted state, a way in which he's never seen him. Not even once. He was always composed. On point. Perfect. Now, his reddish hair is messy around his face, his mouth slack, eyes utterly baffled and glassy as his difficulty breathing is made clear by a strained intake of breath. Rokujou doesn't notice as the blonde deftly swipes a particular item from a side pocket. The youth had always been a good pickpocket, but the other man was clearly distracted.

Very distracted.

Then again, the blonde just did kick him to the ground and mount him.

 _Shit_. Why did he put it like that?

He swallows awkwardly, shaking his head.

 _Focus, damn it._

The blonde stifles a tremor that ripples up his body, forcing himself to stay steady. He hadn't expected the other man to be so-amber eyes can't help but slide over his skin, a light sheen of sweat at his jaw, lips still working in a slow incoherent attempt to form words- so expressive? Uncomposed? It wasn't like him, and the blonde wasn't sure how to describe the rush he felt at seeing the other man this way. Heat began spreading in his chest the longer he watched the scene below him, he sees a flush beginning to creep just at the other's red shirt collar.

 _Enough! Get it together!_

He leans forward to bunch the fabric of the man's collar in his fist to pull him up by it. Rokujou looks too surprised by the sudden movement to react. He holds him tight there, it has to be uncomfortable, breathing restricted as the blonde's face has dipped just to the side of his neck, below his ear.

Masaomi notices that his own breathing has lost it's pace, but pushes the detail from his thoughts. He didn't have time for that. It was hard enough to concentrate as is, all he could breathe was the other man's scent, the bitter tang of sweat mixed with the sweet cologne he always wears. He needed to speak, why was it so hard to think? He groans and shifts his weight.

Mistake.

He shifts his hips slightly and feels the other man's arousal immediately. His own breath intakes sharply, a shock wave that is more pleasant than it should be courses upward.

 _Fuck._

He is frozen in a moment of hazy, surprised silence before finally speaking. His voice is low, with an undertone bordering on amusement or maybe sadism... he didn't even know anymore.

"Simple, huh?" He makes sure to punctuate his words forcefully, though his tone is scarcely above a whisper. "You're insane."

The blonde drops his hold, scurrying off of the other man who finds his acquaintance with the concrete once again.

Masaomi's mind is racing in directions it shouldn't. He needed to get out. Now.

 _Okay. This is where you take his shit and you go. You get the hell out now, he deserves it._

He can feel the cool metal of Rokujou's keys against his palm. It was a good plan, albeit a bit evil. He'd had no trouble swiping the Toramaru's precious keys and he could run off with his girl right now and he'd be helpless to do anything about it. The blonde's lips are turning upwards into a devious sort of grin.

He can imagine the other man's rage. He wonders what string of curses would come out of his mouth, what attempts he'd have at chasing-

Amber eyes widen at the thought. A brief flash of heat rushes to his face.

 _...chasing me?_

He gulps, eyes flickering to the man who is still for all intensive purposes laid out like a stunned ragdoll.

 _Fuck._

Maybe he really did bring this on himself.

He shakes his head in an attempt to clear his swimming thoughts.

 _Fuck it._

Masaomi pauses from his place at the door, and swirls the keyring around his index finger, making himself known.

Rokujou startles, obviously a bit surprised that his companion hadn't left. This seems to please him as he sits up swiping his hat back as he does, eyes confidently snapping to look at him-

It's satisfying as hell to watch the abject horror wash over the Toramaru's face as the sum of the entire situation clicks into place. What had happened. What was going to happen.

The blonde can feel himself smirking. He was always devious. This marks the first occasion he ever felt entirely dominant over the other man-and he had to say, it was a bit thrilling. He watches the older man reflexively paw his own pocket, where a familiar, exceedingly important set of keys was now absent.

Horror shifts to panic.

 _Time to go._

The blonde is out the door to the sound of frantic scuffling behind him. He was faster, he'd make it out first. He runs on autopilot, knowing the location nearly by muscle memory. He hears a grunt of impact somewhere behind him as the other man clearly collides with something.

Masaomi's grinning again as he sprints. Rokujou was obviously getting sloppy in his panic, he hears the echoes of his cursing down the hall.

 _Too easy._

Several turns of dark hallways and a few flights of stairs that he clears with ease and he's outside in the cool night air. His quarry is defenseless nearby. His heart hammers in his chest, hitting an obnoxious peak of adrenaline high as he slides onto the other man's baby. The sensation spikes his breathing in a way he can't logically explain as his mind whirls, pressing the key into the ignition.

 _What the hell am I doing?_

 _WHAT AM I EVEN DOING RIGHT NOW?_

He turns the key and feels the engine turn, growling to life and settling into a comfortable purr under him.

He should go. He should absolutely go and leave that idiot scrambling here. It's what he gets for all this mess. It what's the blonde wants, what he planned on. He tells himself this several times but finds his hands unmoving on the bars.

His throat has gone suddenly dry.

 _What I want, huh?_

He hears the slam of a door as the brunette bursts from the warehouse, a fiery mess that skids to a halt just outside.

Something clicks quietly into place in Masaomi's mind.

 _There's nothing saying I can't beat you at your own game-_

He's energized with a wave of a confidence and revs the engine for good measure. He sighs, looking bored as he lazily rolls his eyes towards his flustered companion.

"Are you coming or what?" His tone is curt, maybe just a bit annoyed, though he has to keep his own amusement in check as that was scarcely what the older man was anticipating.

The brunette falters, brows furrowing together as he clearly begins to mentally hash something out.

The corners of Masaomi's mouth barely resist the upturn of a smirk at the other man's debacle. He seemed torn, to say the least. On his toes. Confused. Perfect.

Masaomi yawns adjusting his position, a stretch that arches his back while his voice is just the slightest bit mocking. "Waiting... " He rolls his eyes in boredom. "I _can_ just leave without you, you know."

That seems to do it as something defiantly changes in the Toramaru's posture.

"The hell you are," he snaps back, restraint evidently crumbling as he sidles onto _his_ motorcycle behind the youth.

The blonde wants to chuckle at the indignity the other man is clearly suffering. He could safely say he's won this round, but he didn't need to voice it as such. He feels the other man shift behind him, and a take a deep breath. There's an affirmative tap on Masaomi's arm as Rokujou's voice raises expectantly.

"Well?"

The rev of the engine serves as an answer. Masaomi speeds them off without as much as another word.

Streets pass by idly. The man behind him keeps his distance and his silence carefully.

Masaomi can't quite say if this disappoints him or not. He finds his thoughts wondering what it would feel like, the warmer, taller man pressed behind him. Probably for the best that it wasn't the case. He shakes his head. Recounting the same sentiment over and over and not providing himself with any clear answers.

 _What am I doing?_

He didn't know.

He hears an exasperated sigh behind him. The blonde can't help but smirk, snipping back, "Now you're being polite, huh?" It felt right. Like their ordinarily easy banter.

The blonde hears a healthy chuckle behind him, while he imagines the smile on those lips. They resume a familiar tone of back and forth. Rokujou feigns an incredulous tone, "I'm always a gentlemen, what are you insinuating?"

Masaomi doesn't answer him, shaking his head slightly. It's unsettling how accurately he can imagine the other man's expression. It was typical of course, though he somewhat misses being able to see it. His thoughts remain inward, wondering what thoughts his companion had bouncing about in that hat of his. If any, he kept them to himself, which was maybe just as well.

They settle into amicable silence. It's nearly a twenty minute ride before Masaomi comes to halt in front of a non-descriptive building that he's not taken his companion to before. Why in the hell he's decided on such, he couldn't say. Dwelling on it would make his nerves go crazy.

He shuts the engine off and promptly tosses the keys over his shoulder, sliding a leg up and over and disembarking without a word.

He hears the older man catch the keys and assumes he'll take the hint and follow. Even if he had no idea what he was doing. Masaomi's expression is a comfortable ordinary blank as he steps forward towards the building's main door. As the other man follows, the blonde slides a card through the reader at the left of the door when a heavy click indicates that it is open and he proceeds inside.

Masaomi continues to lead with no additional dialogue, determined to not let his eyes wander to the brunette who was remaining tactfully silent as they proceeded through the lobby.

A few turns and a flight of steps later, Masaomi stops at another door, fighting to keep his expression neutral, swiping his keycard and dialing in the number pad. A brief click and the door is open, he flips a light switch and ushers the other inside with a simple gesture. Rokujou steps inside, removing his hat, and from what the blonde can gauge isn't exactly surprised by where he is. Then again, it probably wasn't hard to put together.

He can't imagine what he's expecting.

The brunette appears to idly asses his surroundings as the door swings closed behind him. Masaomi kicks off his shoes just inside, a habit of his at home. The older man follows suit, probably assuming it would only be polite.

Masaomi is aware that his apartment is bland, if he was being honest. It was small, utilitarian, and largely bare. Not very reflective of him, but it was temporary anyhow. He hadn't quite figured how much longer he was staying in Ikebukuro. His throat tightens.

He probably shouldn't dwell on that.

He had enough to deal with.

His eyes flicker to his companion who's expression is a bit forlorn. He wonders if he's thinking the same thing, though that would be stupid to imagine.

 _Well, they were here now._

Masaomi sighs, stepping over to his kitchenette and discarding his keycard and wallet onto the counter.

Rokujou's eyes follow the sound, more than a few questions apparent on his features. A smile tugs on the blonde's lips as he looks bemusedly at his companion.

"We're even now, right?" It was a blunt, matter-of-fact statement, that the Toramaru doesn't seem to quite follow. Which somehow makes it more entertaining as his head tilts, disheveled red-brown hair sweeping to the side. He could practically see the gears turning in the older man's head searching for a reasonable explanation.

The blonde continues leisurely, letting his fingers idly drag along the counter. This was satisfying, a situation turned on it's head. He keeps talking, proud of himself.

"It's payback really...you deserved it. You stole me without permission, so...here we are. Fair is fair, right?"

It takes a moment. But he sees it dawn on the other man's features. That he'd been taken at his own device. Not quite manhandled in the same way, but still, brought along with or without consent. It harkens to their meeting months ago in a fitting, book-end sort of way.

Brown eyes squint shut as healthy laughter erupts from the Toramaru's chest, a wide smile breaking across his features. He couldn't swindle his way out of it, and it seemed to make him damn pleased. "Yeah, yeah, you got me there..."

The sound is so fond, his expression so genuine it knocks the air from Masaomi's lungs all at once.

This guy. That smile. He can't fucking stand it.

The blonde has cleared the length between them before Rokujou has gotten over his laughter.

It's a terrible, terrible idea but he doesn't care anymore.

He cuts that delightful sound off, fingers twisting in the Toramaru's jacket, pulling him closer as his lips bruise against the older man in a gesture of blatant need. The immediate high has his heart hammering in his chest. The other man is so damn warm. He imagines burning but doesn't mind.

He doesn't see dark eyes widen in surprise, then soften as he lets his hat slip from his fingers. The blonde feels a smile under his pressing lips as a hand moves to the back of his head, entangling gently in his hair and leveraging back.

 _Oh._

He's nudged closer as an arm winds possessively around his waist, effectively banishing any thoughts of backing out of this now. The other man's response is eager and expectedly more practiced. He feels the other's tongue trail over his bottom lip. Masaomi isn't surprised that he's good at this but it doesn't prevent a slight gasp of breath escaping him. Evidently that was the intention, as he slips into his prone mouth with a pleased hum. His body shudders at the taste.

It was better than he'd-

Well, maybe he _had_ imagined it at some point.

That didn't matter.

His thoughts whirl in haze as he endeavors to meet the other man's advances halfway The kiss is fervent, needy, and goes on for too long. Masaomi finds his fingers trailing over the other man's shoulders, tugging at his jacket.

Rokujou finally pulls away for air. The blonde appreciates it, heaving breathes against him though missing the contact immediately. He can feel the warmth creeping over his features. As pale as he was, it had to be obvious. Other things too, with their bodies still crushed together despite the reprieve, there was no way the older man hadn't noticed the youth's arousal against him. Masaomi nudges forward, sending a pleasant rush to his head.

There's a satisfied groan from the brunette who seems to have no issue with this what so ever, as a smug smile crosses his face. "Awfully bold aren't we?"

The blonde finds himself huffing with a twinge of embarrassment.

 _Asshole._

He had a point.

It wasn't long ago when he was a force of violent denial, and now here he was, desperately pawing against the older man for contact.

He'd probably never live it down.

But he sure as hell didn't need to bring it up now.

One side of his mouth curls in annoyance, amber eyes narrowing despite their heavy lids, as demanding and daring as ever."You talk too damned much, shut up for once!"

Masaomi is certain he's made himself clear but is unwilling to leave any space for response, forcibly covering that irritating mouth with his own. He could feel any composure he was trying to hold crumble as something fierce began to claw it's way out.

Infuriating as he was...he still wanted the cocky bastard.

Badly.

The youth is all hands and tugging, desperate fingers, finally slipping Rokujou's jacket off into a crumpled pile at his feet. The blonde has all but clambered onto him, demanding more contact. The brunette seems to understand, effortlessly hoisting him up by the thighs, hands trailing behind with a dominant squeeze.

His breath comes out in a hiss as he hooks his legs over the Toramaru's hips who turns, bucking the blonde back up against his own wall.

The initial impact grinds them together in a moment of brief, intense friction. Masaomi's gasp is sharp and he finds himself straining as though trying to force them closer. Any means to recreate what just occurred.

The other man seems to be busying himself. He feels his lips trailing over the sensitive crest of his ear, lapping leisurely down his jawline. He nips playfully. The blonde can't help but groan impatiently in response, putting forth a vague struggle to heave himself upwards against him. The older man holds him fast, a pleased smile dancing on his lips.

He could practically see it in his eyes. Some shit about being patient no doubt.

Masaomi sighs, letting the brunette resume his ministrations, slow though they might be.

Maybe he didn't mind so much.

Amber eyes find themselves trailing to the older man's pinstriped collar. His hands follow quickly, fingers tracing underneath the edge of the button down and across the skin of his shoulders. The blonde uses the leverage to steady himself... resuming his efforts to keep his breath somewhat even. He can't imagine how pathetic he'd look, falling apart so easily.

There is an approving hum from Rokujou's throat. The blonde's fingers dig against him as that tongue trails lower, arcing over the curve of his exposed neck.

Chills ripple upward from the small of his back as the youth bites his own lip. His skin must be more sensitive there-

He doesn't have time to dwell as teeth sink into the base of his neck, startling him. The intake of his breath is intense, but he doesn't cry out. The blonde leans his head back, breathing through the sensation of pain coupled with the brunette's warm, wet lips. He groans lightly, he can feel the heat running full tilt to his face.

The other man relaxes his jaw, and the youth feels his skin snap back with a suckling pop. There's a soft chuckle of approval before the brunette dotes over the bruise incessantly with light, gentle kisses while his free hand finds the edge of Masaomi's face in a caressing motion.

His mouth is on his again, panting, taking him into shallower, sweeter kisses.

It was too kind in a way.

 _You really are some k ind of hopeless romantic aren't you?_

Masaomi's trails his fingers across the other's collarbone and begins picking at his buttons.

Rokujou smiles broadly, causing that terrible, bubbly-warm feeling to well in the blonde's chest. His tongue slides over his swollen lips before delving back inside, languidly moving, obviously content to take his time.

There's something like a quiet, needy whine in the back of the teen's throat.

He seems to like it.

The older man bucks his hips upward sharply, grinding their strained cores together.

He hears it. A startled moan escapes his own lips. Masaomi flushes in embarrassment, clasping a hand over his mouth in evident horror.

 _.Shit._

The bastard is grinning before tugging his defensive hand away, interlacing their fingers, squeezing before pulling their hands to the side of the blonde's head. Masaomi imagines he's trying to be reassuring, as he covers his fumbling mouth, a groan behind his kisses as he begins grinding forward.

The blonde's body shudders of it's own accord. He's thankful the sound is muffled by the other's insistent mouth. The friction is exhilarating as the older man spends a few moments grinding his willing form into his apartment wall. There's a good chance he'd never be able to look at this place the same again.

His heart rate was spiking as he notices his thin shirt practically drenched in his own sweat. It was good, but he was almost painfully hard being pushed against like this. He can only imagine Rokujou's discomfort in heavier, less comfortable clothes.

That he very much needs to get rid of. Now that he was thinking about it.

Brown eyes pause to glance about the room, and the blonde follows his direction of interest. Seems he's spotted the bed in the far corner.

Thank god.

The blonde nods, loosening his legs from around the other man's waist. He feels a kiss pressed to his forehead as he wobbles back to his own feet. He tries his best to ignore the other man's smirk.

He knew he had to be a mess. Looking up he finds he's not the only one. Rokujou's ordinarily perfect clothing is haphazard, his lips parted and swollen and the way he's looking at him causes the air to catch in the blonde's throat. His gaze is equal parts eager, longing, and so damn reverent Masaomi has difficulty believing that it's directed towards him. He feels a renewed wave of a heat settling in his groin.

 _Not enough._

The blonde steps closer, resuming his earlier task, fingers finding the remaining buttons on Rokujou's shirt and loosing them with a slow, focused intention as he watches the other man's expression. He seems at a loss as the blonde unfastens the last of the buttons, pulling the red fabric back and tugging it down over his shoulders. Pale hands begin exploring the exposed skin, lightly trailing over his sides and across his chest, leaving evident goose-bumps where he touches. The other's skin is warm as he expected, a bit tanner than his own, firm. Rokujou groans appreciatively, one of his hands finding itself in his hair, urging the blonde to continue.

Masaomi pauses, a glance up, meeting the other man's eyes squarely. He has no doubt he is hazy, he can feel the heaviness in his lids, but the older man seems unprepared. There's a growl in his throat and he's leaning down for the blonde's lips, hand firm at the back of his head, pulling him closer.

The older man fumbles for deeper, wetter kisses as the youth seizes the chance to take some initiative. He pushes back against him, letting his tongue wind against the other, using his weight to urge him backwards. He complies, with cautious steps back across the room, Rokujou has just gotten his hands under the hem of the blonde's tanktop, snaking up the youth's back when his movement is barred.

Masaomi doesn't stop pushing as Rokujou buckles, falling backwards onto the mattress with a light groan.

The youth stands over him, watching his wide-eyed companion, seemingly considering something as his tongue darts out over his swollen lips. Masaomi peels his soaked shirt over his head, discarding it to the floor. The older man can only gawk as the he continues, undoing his belt at a somewhat torturous pace before stepping out of his pants, letting the fabric fall as the buckle clicks against the ground.

Masaomi hovers, one knee finally sliding onto the bed beside Rokujou's leg as the other man is leaning back up eagerly into another heated exchange. His hands wander over the pale skin of the blonde's back, lingering before dipping lower boldly, a firm squeeze to his ass, urging him closer.

He makes an approving sound before pushing Rokujou back, forcefully tugging him further up the bed, feet no longer dangling. His weight settles over the older man's hips, leaning down to resume a fervent kiss, hand's wandering over his exposed skin.

It's a slight moment of deja vu, recalling earlier events. He settles on preferring this version as he bites at the brunette's bottom lip before breaking the kiss, warmly leading to the side of his face. Though either way, his expressions have been priceless. So responsive. The youth's kisses trail down the side of his jaw, to his neck and farther, alternating with swipes of his tongue and barely there grazes of his teeth.

The blonde grins darkly.

 _More payback?_

 _I think so..._

The other man is obviously startled as he bites down violently just before his shoulder. His teeth hold him there, though he can feel the moan in the back of the older man's throat as his hips shift under him.

 _Fair is fair._

Masaomi releases him with a chuckle, listening to an intake of breath as he goes to work undoing the man's belt, sliding the leather out and tossing it aside. Thin fingers make quick work of the pant buttons and zipper. He doesn't seem to be expecting it when the youth's fingers hook under the hem of his boxers, pulling them off alongside his pants.

The blonde is slightly amused.

 _Did he think I'd be shy?_

Masaomi hears a sigh of relief, as the other's erection bobs forward, free from constraint. He makes quick work of his own remaining garment, tossing it into what was becoming a pile at the foot of the bed. He is gone only momentarily before clambering back onto the brunette with a pleased hiss.

Finally, no interruptions. Just skin against skin. The sensation makes his head spin, he has to force himself to focus. He returns to kissing where he left off at that healthy purplish mark, leaving a wet trail downwards.

The blonde pauses, finding time to nip at Rokujou's exposed nipples, tongue swirling around them as they become erect, grazing his teeth over the tip just enough to elicit shudders from the man under him. He feels a hand tugging lightly at his hair, a dry gulp from the man's flushing throat.

He continues, unwavering. He wasn't exactly an expert at this,, but he had every intention of keeping the older man out of breath. Unraveling. The thought alone sends another wave of warmth as his breath teases over the other man's length. Amber eyes flick upwards to look. He feels his mouth curling into a smirk.

Brown eyes are wide, glossy. A kind of hopeful disbelief over the older man's features. He wasn't going to give him anymore time to think about it, tongue running down the the length of him.

He hears a low sound in the back of that throat, growling.

 _Good._

He feels his own sentiment shift into heated determination, slipping his mouth around him. That low sounds shifts almost instantly to a pleasured whimper. He begins moving slowly dragging his lips back up and then down with a hollow of his cheeks. He lingers at the tip before taking him whole in a solid motion.

The blonde hears a clear moan above him, that causes his own erection to strain.

He could get used to that.

Gentle fingers are tugging at his hair while another hand bunches into his sheet.

The blonde continues his motions, bobbing up and down, a hum in his mouth that seems to be working. His companion's breathing is getting shallower, his pants more desperate, composure slipping.

He likes the sound. Probably more than he should.

It's sudden when the other man lurches forward, cursing.

"Shit..."

 _What?_

Rokujou pulls him up by the hair, harder than he meant to, a popping sound as he's pulled off of the other man's length and tugged up into a bruising kiss. Hands clench onto the youth's shoulders pointedly as the older man's chest heaves in an attempt to calm himself. It takes a few moments of distracted kissing to right his breathing. The youth stills, lapping at the the other man's mouth, being held in place seems to get the point across.

 _Ah._

 _My bad._

Masaomi gauges the situation, letting the other man lead. He finally pulls back as amber eyes continue to watch him with interest. The question is unspoken but he seems to read it on the blonde's features.

 _Good?_

The brunette nods. Masaomi plants another shallow kiss before crawling upwards, sprawling cat-like, stomach pressed to the bed. Prone. Exposed. He tries not to think of how desperate this looks as something akin to a whine escapes his lips, head tilting back, his eyes narrow coyly. He hopes the invitation is clear enough, though Rokujou was gawking again.

He feels that heated gaze washing over him, clearly drinking in the sight, but the other man doesn't budge. There's a slight arch of his back as Masaomi glances seriously over his shoulder at the man hovering there. He quirks an eyebrow, silently asking if there's a problem. The older man smirks.

 _Good._

He feels the other's weight over him finally, chest pressed into his back, nuzzling his face just behind

the youth's ear, rustling his hair fondly in the process.

It makes the blonde's chest unexpectedly tight.

The brunette breathes deeply, while Masaomi sighs pleasantly, trying not too think to much. Hands run down the youth's bare sides, causing him to tremble the lower they stray. There's a kiss just behind the blonde's ear.

Masaomi can feel the hardness pressed against him, a tease of what he was expecting later. He fights the urge to grind back against him as the other man struggles to speak.

Rokujou's voice is breathy as he chokes out, "What can I use?"

Masaomi doesn't answer aloud but fumbles with the arm that is stretched over the bed, dipping under it. A moment of rustling later and a small bottle is promptly tossed over his shoulder.

He can practically hear the other man blink in surprise. For the first moment since this started, the blonde is somewhat glad he can't see the other's face. He wonders if he'll ask. What he's thinking. If this changes anything.

He hears a groan behind him and the brief sound of movement before the warmth above him returns with a nuzzle of his hair moving to a delicate nip at the back of his neck.

 _Idiot._

He realizes the irony of the situation, and his clearly misplaced worry. As though the biggest man- whore he knows would judge him. Leave it to young leader to get suddenly paranoid.

He sighs into the other man's affections. Lets his body relax.

The breath ghosting over the back of his neck has left a trail of goosebumps. A line of kisses now dips to his shoulders, while hands busily explore elsewhere, snaking under him to lightly tug at his nipples.

The attention suddenly dips to his spine, licking a single line to the small of his back.

The outcry is embarrassing but Masaomi could do nothing to hold it, his breathing getting shaky. He finds himself muttering into a pillow. Scolding himself for reacting like such a slut.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit. Dumbass. Get it together._

He's startled from his self-tirade by breath hovering over his tender flank below, followed by a bite, not hard, but enough to make a point. The older man is pulling the youth's thighs back, urging him slightly up to his knees, rubbing circles with his thumbs over his hips.

 _Wait._

Masaomi is still fumbling over words he only half understands. "Listen, you don't ha-"

The youth is cut off as that tongue dips lower, just over his the opening, his muscles tensing immediately. The sound that erupts from his throat is strangled but in no way unpleasant, muffled as he stuffs his face into the pillow nearby in deathly embarrassment.

The older man continues, trailing his tongue around the tight ring of muscle. The blonde's tremor is violent, difficult to keep still. Hands settle for holding his hips in place, continue to tease as the youth twitches erratically. He has scarcely dipped his tongue inward when Masaomi has all but screamed into the pillow. The youth's erection is incredibly strained, leaking at the head. He can't take much more of this.

He feels the older man draw back and he sighs audibly in relief. He hears the click of the bottle cap behind him.

 _Ah._

It's not long before a tentative thumb circles the lubricant. The intake of his breath is steady, bracing.

A cautious finger prods inside slowly. He finds his hands gripping the sheet with a light hiss, face still crushed into his pillow. It must be sickening to watch.

He hears the older man's cautious voice in a question. "Okay?" His concern is warm and clear, gently moving his finger in place to stretch carefully.

The blonde nods wordlessly.

 _Why does he care so damn much?_

A second finger teases carefully at his opening, his body becomes rigid once again as he pushes it forward. He pulls gently, spreading between the two. Masaomi's voice has settled to a low, level growl into the pillow. Rokujou shifts, applies pressure and curls his fingers.

 _Fuck._

He feels the shock course through his body as his back arches up, moan breaking out freely as his head leans back away from the bed.

"Better?" The brunette asks, though knowing full well the answer as he makes a point of drawing his fingers out and pressing back in to the same location, eliciting another cry of pleasure. Masaomi's eyes are wide and overwhelmed, his skin overheated, staining with color.

The other man picks up his pace, fingers moving with more vigor, scissoring, carefully stretching him while all the blonde could feasibly do was accept what he was being given, unable to hold his voice. A third finger has Masaomi stringing obscenities into the pillow, along with the clear demand to "get the hell on with it."

Rokujou pauses, with the younger man slick and constricting around his fingers, hips moving against him greedily. The blonde can't see his expression, only knowing that he's stopped entirely. Masaomi makes an insistent noise, moving his hips in evident frustration. There's a murmur of affirmation under the brunette's breath as he withdraws his fingers.

His head spins in a pleasant kind of anticipation. He wonders what he'll feel like.

He isn't expecting to be gripped by the shoulder and opposing hip, flipped over and gently settled onto his back. The blonde knows his confusion is evident, eyes wide, bottom lip moving, brows knitted together.

He's looking at him again. So warmly. It's hard to handle. Amber eyes dart immediately to the side, a turn of the head, not looking. He can't.

The other man freezes, an eyebrow quirked, confused. He seems to pause... considering things.

Meantime, Masaomi's cursing himself internally. He'd probably just botched this. Insulted the closest thing he had to a friend because of his stupid pride and his fear of intimacy. Frankly, he wasn't sure he remembered what that was like. It scares him a bit. Pathetic.

He feels hands trail down his right leg, carefully lifting, the brunette nuzzling his face against his foot, watching, waiting. He knows those eyes are looking at him expectantly.

Probably because he should know better.

Should trust him enough after all this shit.

Should know how he is, how serious he takes these things despite his casual airs.

Masaomi's other foot twitches impertinently. But he still refuses, amber-gaze locked to the side, eyes narrowed, irritated... bracing? He didn't deserve this anyway. He could now pencil 'traitor' in beside 'liar' on his resume. And add 'coward' for good measure.

He doesn't see it, but the older man smiles fondly.

Masaomi feels a light kiss to the side of his foot, his eyelids flutter momentarily before being stubbornly replaced with a scowl. The corner of Rokujou's mouth turns upward, taking his time with a slow lick from the ball of his foot up the through the arch.

His body tremors at the touch as Masaomi all but scrambles up to his elbows, a furious red across his features, eyes wide, obviously startled at the other man's unflinching gaze.

The blonde finally speaks, a shaky, incredulous sneer, "What the hell, man?!"

There. Now he'd done it.

He stops breathing. Waiting for the inevitable rebuttal.

He winces.

It never arrives.

His gaze is slow to meet his companion.

Rokujou looks... pleased, finally being met by those ever-defiant eyes. He smirks. "Mmh, that's better." The other man leans forward to capture the blonde's lips again, a hand gently under the youth's jaw, a light flick of the tongue inside. He pauses lips still brushing, his voice quiet. "Stop hiding from me...please?" He allows himself just one more taste before proceeding.

As he pulls back, Masaomi finds himself all out of sorts in ways he can't explain. The other man's eyes so kind, his hands gentle, that voice pleading, genuine... was he always like this? It has the blonde more breathless than he had ever planned on being, amber eyes darting in surprised movements over Rokujou's features.

The older man lubricates himself once more before inching closer, drawing the blonde's other thigh up, a tentative squeeze, never breaking eye-contact. He waits.

Masaomi's eyes are still wide but he doesn't speak this time. A slight nod, lips parted.

The other man guides himself slowly into the youth's opening, pushing just beyond the tight ring of muscle and pauses. Masaomi winces at the shallow contact. His intake of breath was slow, eyes screwed shut, fingers bunching the bed sheet. One eye cracks open at the reprieve, glazed, another nod.

The other man continues pushing himself in, slowly, observing the blonde's reactions. Finally seated to the hilt, Masaomi hears a deep, wavering breath above. The blonde is sure he's never been so aware of someone else's heat, now filled with it, he's certain his entire body is flushing at the sensation. His muscles contract around him. He intakes sharply, eyes half-opening as his grip on the sheet loosens, damp bangs clinging to a glistening forehead. His expression isn't so harsh, but defiant none the less, eyes piercing. His words are choked but forceful when he speaks, "Move," having to take a few shaking inhales, "damn it..."

The older man groans and complies, bucking his hips lightly and approving of the pleased sound that escapes the blonde's lips. He pulls back, nearly out before pushing forward again slowly, exploring the sensation while the youth breathes carefully. He repeats himself, biting his lip, likely reaching the limits of his own restraint quickly as he pulls out and thrusts back in all at once, angling precisely where he needed to as the moan from Masaomi is both sudden and guttural and has the blonde's hands clasping over his mouth again.

 _Shit._

There he was again.

That felt-just,

It wasn't like it was his first, but...

The blonde's hands are fumbled forcefully away, braced down as the brunette begins thrusting in timed pushes, his own breath hitching. His dark eyes are glossy but focused entirely on his companion. Each thrust has more responsive sounds from Masaomi's lips, his body clamping down on him, soon pushing back with his hips to meet the older man's movements. Their rhythm was imperfect but effective as every matched thrust met another moan from somewhere deep in his throat, their awareness lost to the haze of panting breaths and heat.

His head swims, his breathing becoming erratic with each outcry of his voice, embarrassment forgotten gradually forgotten. The sight of the older man exerting himself over him has a steady flow of heat pooling in the back of his stomach. He screws his eyes shut, if he keeps watching he'll lose it. It would be soon enough as is.

The Toramaru shifts suddenly, pulling back to a seated position, pulling Masaomi on top of him tightly. There is a pleasant hum in the blonde's throat. There was far more contact this way, very little of his skin wasn't touching the other man. At the thought, arms encircle him possessively, one clinging to the small of his back, the other weaving itself into blonde hair at the back of his head, urging.

The youth couldn't say he was in much of an aware state of mind, but pressed himself closer in response, wrapping his legs around his waist, sloppily working his mouth against the older man, letting his fingers draw through his damp,chestnut locks.

Rokujou groans deeply into the curve of Masaomi's neck where he's settled himself, bucking his hips just slightly. The position had them together so intimately it required little force to create friction. The tiny movement has Masaomi tightening around him, the blonde's head spins, nearly falls apart. His erection throbs painfully between them.

He once again feels lips beside his ear, the haze of warm breath. The older man's voice is husky, thick with lust as he plainly makes a demand.

"Give yourself to me."

It has the desired effect. If it was possible at this point, Masaomi is more aroused, moving himself immediately in compliance. He gently rocks back and forth while his sounds become all the needier, arms snaking around the other man, fingers clutching into the skin of his back. Rokujou pushes up in time with the youth, who is now squeezing around him erratically, the blonde's head dropping back.

The older man snakes a hand between them, grasping the youth's erection, pumping.

It's too much.

It sends him over the edge as Masaomi cries out, feels himself spasming, his release smearing over their chests, constricting down over Rokujou. The moment is blinding, the blonde clings tightly through it, head back, eyes vacant in bliss. The sudden tightness speeds the older man's arrival as several thrusts and a glance to that gasping mouth has him coming shortly after Masaomi, spilling into him as Rokujou cannot find the will to breathe. He's pawing blindly, trying the pull the blonde as close as possible, desperately seeking the other's mouth. His kisses are sloppy but terribly tender as he pulls himself out of the trembling youth. Masaomi hisses from the movement, a final tremor rippling through his body.

Frankly, the blonde doesn't have the breath to think.

He sees that Rokujou is smiling, still riding a high of pleasure as he carefully pushes the blonde back down to the mattress. It's soft against him as he allows the brunette to continue his attentions, trailing light, shallow kisses over his face. The older man is all but purring as Masaomi sighs finally, a pleasant kind of exasperation, serious amber eyes flicking to watch the other man's continued ministrations.

Coming back to reality takes a few foggy moments, but the descent is steep and the concern begins invading the blonde's mind immediately.

There were probably things he needed to say, but he had no idea what was appropriate. What was expected. How did one act after crossing that boundary?

He didn't know. His previous encounters were more casual, he wasn't so—invested, not like they were a persistent part of his life.

Hell, what was he saying.

He didn't feel different about him, so-

The older man has since settled down, facing him, messy chestnut hair finding a plump pillow to rest on as he languidly tangles his legs into his own. One of his hands finds Masaomi's but the the blonde scarcely notices. Mind reeling. He interlaces their fingers gently, pulls the hand closer to his lips, kisses the back of it intently, never breaking eye-contact even if the blonde is a bit occupied. The brunette idles himself caressing that hand, his expression a kind of care-free Masaomi is certain he could never replicate.

What about Saki? A wave of guilt hits him straight in the gut. It occurs to him that he hadn't thought about her. Not once during all of this. The Toramaru had occupied every ounce of his senses. His warmth. His smell. His smile. He could still taste him on his tongue.

He doesn't know what that means.

It wasn't that he didn't care about her. She was his responsibility. But he couldn't deny this felt different. Was that wrong? Probably.

 _Shit_.

A light chuckle from Rokujou's lips startles him back to awareness. Brown eyes are watching him warmly, with an expression of understanding. Like he had expected this.

It's frustrating. Masaomi feels himself frowning.

Of course this wasn't an issue for him. Everything was simple when it came to Rokujou. He knew he wasn't the same. He could never be. The older man's look is sympathetic as he shakes his head, a lopsided smile slipping across his features.

He feels their entwined hands tapped against his own forehead. Rokujou's expression is playful. His voice matches.

"Stop that."

Masaomi blinks. The other man really was unfathomable sometimes. Knowing his expression goes from worry to confusion, eyes narrowing slightly when he speaks. "Stop what?"

Rokujou sighs, a smirk, he taps their hands against the boy's head again. The action is clearly irritating the younger man. "That," he responds flatly. As though that cleared it all up.

 _Bastard._

The blonde is not amused. Brows furrow together with a huff as his eyes take a familiar fierce light. "What the-" He's cut off by firm lips on his own, lips that have the nerve to be smiling about this.

Rokujou keeps him there, just long enough to have to push for breath, drawing back, watching the object of his affection panting for breath but still glaring, if not so strongly. A hand brushes through the blonde's hair with a tutting sound.

"Keep it simple Masaomi." His tone is light, genuine. It startles the blonde.

It occurs to Masaomi that the other leader had never referred to him by his given name before. There's a shiver he can't right explain as he knows he is flushing.

So, maybe he liked the sound of it. Part of him wants the older man to say it again. He won't ask though.

And that did NOT make it simple. It was easy for the other man to say.

 _Idiot._

The blonde makes a disgruntled sound of annoyance and then a sigh, clearly giving up on the issue but not the war and relaxing back down against the bed, closing his eyes, defiantly looking anywhere other than at the man beside him.

Rokujou chuckles in amusement.

Of course he's finding entertainment in this.

The older man turns onto his back, stretching his limbs casually with a yawn, glancing to the blonde, who was utterly aware of him, even if he wouldn't look. He braces an arm behind his head, propping himself up to look at his stubborn lover.

"So..." he trails off, his voice entertained, almost musical in it's cadence "Admit that you're mine now?"

 _TOO FAR._

There's a whirl of air as Masaomi is quick with a pillow, vaulting it into the brunette's expectant face.

"Shut up, Rocchi." He quips, shifting as he rolls to face away from the man, tugging the sheet up to hide his flushing face.

He could imagine the bastard grinning ear to ear without having to see it.

How that moron could be simultaneously such an infuriating, lovable idiot was beyond him.

Tch. What was he saying. The blonde feels his chest constrict pleasantly.

So, maybe he didn't deny it. But it was going to be a complicated mess either way.

He breathes in, letting his eyes close contentedly as an arm silently encircles him, feels a comfortable warmth against his back.

He'd sort it out in the morning.

Somehow.


End file.
